


Oh, Oh, People of the Earth; Listen to the Warning

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Queen (Band)
Genre: 80s Bri and Roger (a bit of 90s characteristics too), Affectionate Insults, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Amputation, And a bunch of other kisses because reasons, Angry Roger Taylor (Queen), Arena is gonna be a mix between 74th Hunger Games and Quarter Quell fyi, Backstory, Bands, Banter, Ben's mum is not nice, Best Friends, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bonding, Brotherly Affection, Crack, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dark Past, Declarations Of Love, Doctors & Physicians, Dreams and Nightmares, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Epic Friendship, F/M, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Fever, Fever Dreams, First Kiss, Gen, Gore, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hugs, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I can't have these boys NOT becoming friends with each other come on now, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired by Music, It's the Hunger Games so all this is to be expected, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Not just with Ben and Joe either ooh, Panic, Panic Attacks, Papa Bear Roger Taylor, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Philosophy, Pining, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Possible inaccuracies but I've done my best, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Radio, Rage, Rami and Joe are amazing together, References to Addiction, Revolutionaries, Roger and Bri have had a hard life, Roger has some issues poor man, Sad Brian May, Sad and Happy, Self-Hatred, Smoking, So much sadness though because it's the Hunger Games, Song: Teo Torriatte (Let Us Cling Together), Suicidal Thoughts, Surgery, Survival Horror, Swearing, Terminal Illnesses, Torture, Tracker Jackers (Hunger Games), What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2020-08-14 13:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 40
Words: 77,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20193316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: Joe is prepared for the Reaping, he thinks. He hopes. Every year it has to happen; every time it's been the same.But this is different. This is the first Reaping for his little brother John, and this time the rules are changed: two males can be sent into the Arena.Happy Hunger Games. Yeah, right.





	1. Preface - A Question

Hello lovelies, 

Having just completed my first Queen series I was a bit distraught, and of course when one is distraught one watches a sad movie series (or at least I do). Saw the Hunger Games, and of course my mind put Ben, Joe, and the other lads therein. Got Queen and BoRhap on the brain!

My question to you is, would any of you be interested in reading a story set in a variation of the Hunger Games universe with the Queen men and Bohemian Rhapsody lads, or have I finally gone completely and utterly insane? (Perhaps both?)

Please leave a comment to let me know what you think, darlings. And thank you <3

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Edit: Due to all the support I shall be going forward! Thank you so much, darlings <3


	2. Beware the Storm that Gathers Here

_Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour._

Joe likes odds. He likes positives and strong thinking and getting a good bow shot when out with his sister Mary so he can bring home supper. He likes picking flowers for his mom and playing catch, taking care of (i.e. raising Cain with) his serious little brother. Gotta get John to have some fun. 

John has always been the serious one and Mary is calm and even-keeled. His parents always used to joke that they didn't know where they found Joe. Couldn't even blame a switch at the hospital though--he looks every inch a Mazzello. "Joey's a changeling, eh, Virginia? The fairies gave us a fabulous chance," Dad would say, and his mother would laugh, beaming all over her face as her husband took her hand and danced with her around their tiny kitchen.

She doesn't smile or laugh like that anymore, not since the love of her life passed on. They were all certain that his cancer manifested as a result of his work in the mines, but could not prove it and the Capitol didn't care. No; the only thing they want from the districts is produce of whatever sort they can get.

Produce, and tributes.

Today is Reaping Day, serious little John's first one, as he'd recently turned twelve. He stands stock-still for his washing in the frigid water, toes curling against the rough wood grain of the bucket he stands in. He allows his mother to brush and part his hair just so. His sister helps him with his pants and button-down. It is only when Joe kneels before him to help John with his tie that the little boy breaks. His thin hand reaches out and grasps Joe's lapel tight. "Joe, I don't wanna get picked," he whimpers. "Please, please don't make me go."

Joe's wide lower lip trembles as he tries to straighten the knot of his brother's tie, blinking rapidly. He takes the other's shoulders and tries to smile at him for reassurance. "Johnny, it's gonna be okay. I believe that. Your first year ...well the odds are pretty good that ya won't be picked, kiddo." Joe nods encouragingly and squeezes his brother by the shoulders. John smiles back before throwing his body at Joe in a hug, and Joe clutches him tight, burying his face in John's neck, squeezing his eyes shut and praying he's right about this. "Okay," Joe shifts back at last and stands, wearing his brightest smile again so as to keep John's spirits up. He gives his mother a kiss and Mary presses his hand. "We gotta get goin'."

His eyes fill with tears as his mother swoops John into her arms and murmurs "I love you, baby boy," the way she always does. But today it means more; the weight is different as she adds "So much." Before gazing at Joe. "I love you, Joe."

"Love you more," he says back to her, and waves, attempting to be jaunty. "See you out there after."

***

Crowds mill in a serpentine clump at the District Square. This is the only time everyone enters it at once, the men with their faces grey and drawn from the mines, eyes pinched in the brightness, trying to look presentable in patched shirts and ragged pants. Women and girls' faces appear just as pinched. There is always a hubbub because apparently the politicos have been lobbying to get females out of the Reaping for years. Too much danger to unborn millions if they are always to go into the Arena to be killed. Joe thinks that's kind of sexist, no one should have to go be killed and it's a woman's decision whether or not she wants kids anyway, but whatever. Seems like this is the year they got their wish--just guys are being Reaped. And there are still two pots, over teens and under. Great. Get a bunch of forty-year-olds in the arena and they'll be moaning about their jobs and wanting to watch a ball game.

But he and John get signed in, and the Capitol stooge comes up beaming after the mayor says some sickly-sweet thing about being so grateful for the Capitol's support of District Twelve, yada yada. Joe just wishes he could be standing with his brother right now. John fidgets with his clothes when he's nervous, and his shirt is already ragged enough at the cuffs that if John pulls on one it's going to go. 

There is shuffling, and silence. The Capitol presenter pulls a name from the teen-and-under basket and calls out "John Mazzello!"

Joe's body jerks, his eyes bulge. No. No no no, that isn't possible. No way. He thinks he hears his sister gasp behind him as he looks around wildly to see John, sweet tender little John, doing his best to square his shoulders and blink back tears. Hell no. "JOHN!" Joe calls out, screeches, running toward his brother, who turns.

"Joe--?" Terrified eyes catch Joe's as the soldiers stop him. They're always here, damn, coming out just in time.

"I volunteer!" The elder male Mazzello bawls out to the guards grabbing him and to everyone else there. They will not take his brother. His voice cracks as he screeches: "I volunteer as tribute."

"No!" John gasps, already crying, tears tracking down his cheeks as he tries to grab Joe's hand. Joe is frog-marched up to the stage as Virginia swoops in and scoops her youngest into her arms, Mary close behind, face stark white and stricken. Joe feels as though his heart is breaking--for the second time in his life--as he looks into their faces from his place beside the podium. They had already lost his father, now they are probably certain to lose him too. Oh, no.

But Joe goes up, the first volunteer in this new system of Reaping, and he speaks his name into the microphone, saying yes, that's his brother he volunteered for. And then the other name is called: "Benjamin Jones."

A muscular guy with blond hair and a round childlike, cherubic face comes up the stairs to the stage. His sea-green eyes are enormous, the expression in them is one of fearful, dawning terror mixed with shock. Joe too is stunned, but smiles at the other as they are exhorted to shake hands--an automatic impulse to be friendly and to calm himself as well as potentially comfort the other man. Every little bit helps, right?

But Benjamin's body jerks as if Joe has stabbed him. "Why in the world are you _smiling_, mate? We've been given a bloody death sentence," he hisses as they are both turned about in order to be whisked away. His voice is rough and deep and the sound of it draws Joe in despite his angry words.

"--I think of it as a chance for us to survive," Joe responds cheerily, or with as much happiness as he can muster. Because his family is back there, and will be coming to say goodbye; and he has got to put on a brave face for them. He's got to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves! And so it begins...
> 
> I want to let you know this is inspired by the Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay, but will have some differences due to the characterisations of Ben and Joe (as well as other characters of course). 
> 
> *"Benjamin Jones" = I put Ben's given name in this piece, not his stage name. He will be known as Ben Hardy later though :)
> 
> Do let me know what you think of this, as always <3


	3. Listen to the Wise Man...

Ben is shoved unceremoniously into the ready room. The goodbye room. Bit of a shitty name, as no one is coming to say farewell to him--his family had done their nodding outside. No hugs or streaming tears, that isn't how the Joneses show emotion. Not that he NEEDS all that or anything, but it would have been nice to know before he went, that at the very least he will be missed if he doesn't come back.

He has no clue how that other bloke--Joseph Francis Mazzello the Third, as he'd introduced himself on the mic, wow what a name--could legitimately smile whilst meeting him, or shaking his hand, at least. Hadn't really met officially. Ben's ears had been ringing with the shock of getting called, and his cousins and parents and so many other people were just... staring. He doesn't blame them; every year there is a sense of disbelief when the Reaping is happening, along with a rush of relief when it doesn't happen to you. Ben knows the drill; he had been lucky so far.

Apparently his luck ran out this year.

Maybe they had followed him, known his doings. Ben is a disgruntled baker's apprentice, he does the cakes but notices what is going on in Panem and wishes for an uprising of more than simply baking batter. He wants to fight back against the Capitol--well, has heard some small bits of talk and is impressed by it, intrigued. Wants to throw in his lot with those chatters but does not quite know how. He also does not want to jump in headfirst without insurance or knowledge. 

Ben's only sure knowledge right about now is that he is going to be on a bullet train for several days with a seemingly boisterous, happy guy who volunteered as tribute either because he is a psychopath or because he really wants to protect his kid brother. Ben wouldn't know what that is like. Anyway. "This ought to be good," Ben mutters to himself as another guard appears to usher him onward to the platform to wait for the train.

He wishes he could say goodbye to Gram, but she was feeling poorly and had been advised to stay in the house. Doctor's orders. Wouldn't have even seen the Reaping unless she turned their projector on; but knowing Gram, that's what she had done. Ben smiles at the thought of the stubborn sweet lady. He is really going to miss his grandmother, and his dog. If he just had another moment with them.... Wavering for a moment, smile gone, he nearly turns back and breaks away, begs the guards to let him go at least so he can say goodbye--but he hauls in a lengthy shaking breath and the moment is gone.

***

Soon as Joe is herded into the tiny dark room in the Municipal Building, the door is flying open behind him and John is hitting his legs, wrapping himself around Joe and sobbing. Mary is next, catching him round the head and kissing his hair, and his mother stands back with her hands over her mouth to stop her own cries. "Hey," Joe croaks, trying to smile. "It's gonna be okay, guys. It's hunting, right? That's all it is. Hunting and--maybe making friends. Maybe I won't have to hurt anybody, ha ha." His trembling fingers clutch his sister and he presses his face into his brother's hair. "It's gonna be all right, though. Mary, you'll get game and watch out for everybody."

His sister nods into his hair, still holding on to him. "Of course, Joe."

"And Mom, no crying," he admonishes her. "You just keep teaching dance lessons, and uh. Keep that co-teaching spot open for me, I'll be back." 

His mother's lips wobble as she blows him a kiss and then steps forward, cupping one hand around his cheek and stroking his face with her thumb. "Oh, Joe...,"

Joe tries to grin at her, so hard, even as his voice is wobbling and tears are filling his eyes. "And John," he whispers, kneeling down. His brother lets out a wail and buries his head in Joe's shirt. "Hey, little man. Shh, look at me." He lifts his brother's chin and speaks seriously "Watch out for yourself, and Mom, and Mary. And I promise we are going to play some catch when I get back. Okay?" John bites his lip, entire body trembling like a leaf. Joe is crying in earnest now, but he pushes through. "Okay?" He repeats. "C'mon, say you believe me, Johnny."

"I... I believe you," his brother whimpers, wiping his face. 

Joe shakes his shoulder gently. "Good man! Now gimme a hug, all of you," and they do, coming together as one. "Us Mazzellos have got a lot going for us. We're gonna be all right." Joe tries to make his voice light, keep it buoyant. He does. He has to hold himself together, and then the guard comes back in.

"It's time," a heavy voice says, and the words along with the sound, the finality of it pierces through Joe's heart. Mary starts sobbing now, and John buries his face in her side as Joe gives them both a kiss and his mother a final back-cracking hug.

"Take care of them," he whispers to her. "I love you."

"Oh, I love you, my little Joey," his mom holds his face in her hands. "Please be safe."

Joe closes his eyes and grabs her hand where it holds onto his cheek, committing the feeling to memory before opening his eyes again. "I will, Mom. I'll try." _I promise._ Her smile is heart-rending as she kisses his cheek a final time and is corralled out of the room with the others. "Bye!" Joe calls. "I'll--see you soon!" He tries, voice cracking. See them soon, yeah, right. How can he even make a promise like that? He hopes they didn't hear it, even as he aches and wishes they had. Joe feels cold and so so small as he is led out onto the platform, seeing the other tribute again. Benjamin. He looks pretty composed, which makes Joe feel even worse even as he's also kind of impressed. He wishes he could control his face like that, but has always worn his emotions on his sleeve.

Joseph's eyes are red-rimmed and tears still trickle down his cheeks. Ben gives him space, but feels a sick curl of envy and sympathy warring inside of him. What he wouldn't give for his own family to come and say goodbye to him as he is certain the other man's had just been doing. They certainly demonstrated their love when he volunteered. But Ben's family had not. They are not going to and he is leaving, so he has to move on. This is a beginning as well as an end. 

He climbs onto the shiny silver train with Joseph behind him.

***

The excitable presenter, gushing about them being chosen (or volunteering) to go to the Capitol and how wonderful it is, listing all the things they might see there, is really grating on Ben's nerves. His fellow tribute is nodding and smiling--again--but if Ben didn't know better he would say he spots a weary emptiness in the demeanor of this bouncy dude. It makes a surge of compassion twinge within his chest and he speaks up "Oi, that all sounds great, but d'you mind laying off and just letting us be for a while? This day's been a bit, uh."

"--Overwhelming?" A new voice cuts in gently, emanating from a tall thin man with long dark curls and kind, sad eyes. He wears a shimmery silky shirt and dark tight slacks, but the only bit of attire that seems truly Capitol-esque is the eyeliner and eye shadow that makes his hazel orbs stand out. He comes over to them both and shakes their hands with strong, lengthy fingers. "I imagine that it would be. My name is Brian May, and I'm here to make your stay in the Capitol as comfortable as I can, before--" his voice chokes a bit and tears, actual tears fill his eyes. "I'm sorry," he apologises. "You probably don't want any sorrows from someone you don't know, but I am truly sorry that this happened to you. To you both." His eyes shift from Ben's to Joseph's. "But that was a very brave thing you did to volunteer." Finally backing up a bit, Brian blinks and tries to smile. "I... shall go and get your mentor. He should be ready by now, somewhere. That will be all," he dismisses the presenter, who inclines their head and exits the train as it begins to move. Brian looks back at the two young men as he prepares to exit the compartment and his long teeth catch upon the flesh of his lower lip as he adds softly "Oh, where are my manners? Please feel free to have a seat anywhere you like. I will be back."

Ben flicks his eyes around the compartment. Everything is so blasted shiny and clean. Pristine. He is half-afraid he somehow has flour on his clothes from the bakery and that when he sits down it will disperse everywhere like a cloud of smoke. He shuffles and eventually decides to sit on the end of some green Plasticine chair. Joseph plops in one right NEXT to him. Bloody hell. 

"I don't think we were properly introduced earlier," Joseph intones with an expression in his eyes that Ben has a difficult time looking at for some reason. "Ya seem pretty cool, but I don't know that Benjamin really works for you. I'm Joe."

Ben's head shoots up at those words and his face hardens. "Excuse me?" he snaps. "What's wrong with my name?"

Joe blinks. "Nothing, man. I just thought you might have a nickname, or go by something shorter. Nobody calls me Joseph unless things are really serious. It's how I always knew when I was in trouble growing up. It's still how I know, sometimes." He chuckles, extending his hand expectantly. "So what about you?"

Ben flushes in shame. His hackles are so high he is snapping at this guy for no reason, and here Joe is just being _nice_. Ben doesn't get that often. So "Ben," he clears his throat, voice cracking a bit in embarrassment. "My name's Ben. Only... my parents and everybody actually DO refer to me as Benjamin, but Ben's what I'd--what I like to be called."

"Okay!" Joe chirps brightly, again shaking Ben's hand, eyes dancing, skin crinkling at their outer edges. "Ben. I can do that. So, Ben, have you ever met him? Our mentor, I mean. Uh, he's--"

"Roger Taylor," Ben supplies, running a hand through his hair. "I've never met him personally, no. But he gave my parents an earful one time in our bakery. Lot of profanity was flying around apparently. He's a pretty intense bloke from what I've heard. Intimidating."

"Oh." Joe's voice is small for a second. Ben looks over, concerned, but then Joe's buoyancy bounces back. No idea how he can do that. "We'll just have to make friends with him, then."

Ben snorts. "Easier said than done. I--don't make friends that easily."

"Well you're in luck today, Benny!" Joe nudges his shoulder. "You've got me and I like talking to everybody. My sister Mary says I could have a conversation with a stump and make it interesting for myself." He laughs. "Don't know what that says about me, but." Ben does not doubt Joe can do that. He has never met someone like this man, so gregarious and full of life. He starts to tell Ben all about his family as they wait: his sister Mary, brother John, and his mother Virginia. "She's great," he enthuses. "Even during the bad times she runs a little dance studio that she and my dad started. 'The world is dark, and in a dark world--'"

" '--Every bit of light is precious'," Ben whispers, his eyes wide. Joe squints in response.

"Yeah, that's what she always says. Are you psychic or something?"

"No, I just... I think I might've gone to some classes there. When I was little," Ben licks his lips, leaning forward, waving a hand. "Does your dance place have a, kind of a slanted wooden floor? And the mirrors never hung straight--"

"--Because of fissures in the walls due to sunken ground from the mines," Joe says, brightening. "Oh my god, yeah, that's our place! Dad always told us there were trolls burrowing beneath us, making caves that the fair folk would lead 'em through, and they were pulling down the ground to make holes so they could have some natural sunlight. Everybody needs to see the sun, he always said." Joe's smile is wistful now, and his eyes are far away. Recalling happier times, probably. Then he shakes his head and focuses back. "That's crazy though, that you went to our studio and that you remember those words! Mom still says 'em every day." Joe's lip trembles. Even after she's lost so much, and may yet lose him. He shuffles his shoulders, clenching his fingers together, feeling awkward in his sorrow.

But "Yeah, exactly," Ben speaks warmly. "I definitely remember, and those words helped me out a lot back then. I was a quiet kid, kept to myself. Needed some light in my life. Probably still do," the warmth and brightness in his gaze have faded. "A bit late for that though, I expect."

"No, it isn't," Joe responds firmly, turning to face him. Ben is startled by his vehemence. "It's never too late, Ben. We can find some light til the very second our cannons go off in the arena! I-I mean," he stutters to a halt at Ben's wide-eyed expression. "Sorry, I was getting all hyped up and that probably ruined it, huh?"

Ben cannot contain a chuckle. "Might've been a tad morbid, yeah. But that's alright, I got what you meant."

"Yeah? Okay, good." Joe's breath whooshes out in relief that he had not gone too far.

"I did as well," comes a new voice from the compartment door, high and a trifle husky. "And it's a good thing you can laugh at the probability of your imminent demise. Humour is important." A thick cloud of tobacco smoke precedes a shorter figure into the room, followed by the lanky limbs of Brian. The shorter man has blond feathery hair, spiked up a bit. He wears a pair of round sunglasses on his finely-boned face and his teeth are blinding as he bares them in a sardonic smile before flopping himself into a chair across from the two tributes. "Because you lads--" flicking his fingers between Ben and Joe, the man continues "--barring a stellar performance or a bloody miracle, are very likely buggered coming here." He raises pale eyebrows, expressing every word and blows a smoke ring from a drag on his cigarette before adding sardonically, "Cheers."

"Cheers," Ben automatically replies, feeling numb. That's it then. They are screwed. Not much of a loss for him, really; but Joe, he's got people waiting for him at home. Good people from what Ben is hearing and remembering. He clears his throat, leaning forward a bit. "Mister Taylor, erm--"

The other chokes on smoke and waves a hand. "Whoah now lad. Bollocks to Mr. Taylor. That's my father and he was a right bastard. Call me Roger."

"...Right. Well, Roger, I do think it'll be hard for us to stay alive, and, but maybe it'd be easier if you could lend us your expertise to...help?" Ben's low voice breaks higher at the last bit in nervousness, making his words come off like a question. God, but this is terrifying. Roger's bright blue eyes are now fixed on Ben, as he has ripped his sunglasses off and leaned forward as well.

Ben tries incredibly hard not to squirm or sweat or run away. And then, mercifully, "I agree with Ben on this," Joe puts in brightly. "I mean, you made it through the Games, Roger. There's gotta be something you know that'll help us, at least a little."

"Roger," Brian puts a long hand on the other's shoulder in a placating gesture as Roger visibly tenses. The blond grumbles and attempts to shove him off, but Brian hangs on. "They both make valid points, Rog. You DID once win this thing."

Roger snorts, hair whipping as he jerks his head up, locking his eyes on Brian's. "That was ages ago, Bri!" He explodes. "And it was--I was lucky, really. Had idiotic, run-of-the-mill strokes of luck. Couple'a sound waves and some drumsticks." He takes a long drag on his cig and shakes his head. Ben and Joe share a glance with one another. They cannot tell whether or not Roger is serious, or what he means. Full tapes of previous Games are sealed until each Quarter Quell, or unless a news outlet or training school is given EXPRESS permission to view a tape from the President himself.

Brian rubs Roger's arm soothingly, but the other man is not soothed. His lips press flat together and his eyes blaze. "No!" He shouts, boiling to his feet, at last forcing Brian to let him go. "I'm not gonna bloody do this again, Brian! I can't." He looks at the two young men sitting before him, startled and frightened and despondent, and Roger cannot handle the sight. His mouth works and he shakes his head, eyes fractured as he strides back out of the compartment and tosses the end of his cigarette out the window.

After the door closes only silence is left behind. Brian smiles apologetically at Ben and Joe, features kind yet sad. "I'm sorry, boys. Roger has... troubles, sometimes, and he lashes out."

"Yeah, no kidding," Ben mutters before he can think. Joe lets out a tiny surprised laugh and even Brian's lips quirk up.

"Right. Well, having known him for quite awhile, I can say that he will come round when provided with a reason."

A reason. Joe scrunches up his lips, taps his thumbs together, and stands. "Okay then I"m gonna go give him one."

"Right now?" Ben stares askance. "Joe, are you sure?" He would be much more inclined to let Roger cool off first, and then talk to him. Or maybe never talk to him. But that isn't Joe's mentality, apparently.

"Yep, I'm sure. There's no time like the present." Joe slaps Ben on the shoulder lightly in a friendly way and adds "I'll be back... soonish, hopefully." He waves and follows Roger's egress, leaving Ben and Brian to sit a trifle awkwardly.

Brian bends his long limbs and rests one ankle on the opposite knee. "Admirable fellow," he says quietly with something like awe in his voice after a bit. Ben nods.

"Yeah," A lump fills Ben's throat as he swallows. Even not having been around Joe all that long, though a few old memories are resurfacing, he is very much inclined to agree with Brian. "He definitely is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have Roger as Haymitch and Brian as a much calmer Effie :D and because of the nature of the Hunger Games novels, I have them being about the ages (and with the looks) they were/had in the late eighties--or early nineties if you care to imagine that. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> *The dance studio knowledge comes from real life, Joe's parents apparently own/owned a dance studio and actually met in dance class when they were kids. Which is so cute it kills me
> 
> I want to stress I have no knowledge of Ben's family, he just lends himself to angst quite easily when I write him, poor boy
> 
> Do let me know what you think of this, darlings <3


	4. A Man Who Cried

The bullet train passes swiftly through the districts. Time passes swiftly too, like a mockingjay on the wing. Ben is utterly exhausted from the day and turns in early to find his sleeping compartment. He hardly has time to pull his shirt over his head before he's asleep and snoring, face planted into the pillow upon the absurd bed that is his.

He wakes the following morning muzzy-headed, unclear as to why his father has not shouted "Up and at 'em, Benji boy! You're burning daylight!" at him as of yet. He at the very least expects his gram to get him upright with a gentle shake, but no one does. Not even Frankie appears, crawling on top of him to press her cold nose in his face, tail waggling her entire body as she begs to be let outside. Ben stretches and sits upright, and with that everything comes crashing back into his head: the Reaping ceremony, his name being drawn, stilted goodbyes as he walked to the podium, the fact he had not said goodbye to Gram. And there is his fellow tribute.

Joe. Whom he'd met and remembers from before, years ago at his parents' dance studio. As well as from a far more recent memory that surfaces and is instantly cut off. Ben stops the thought before it can really begin; he had not mentioned it to Joe, not wanting to embarrass him--though even knowing the man for so brief a time, Ben wonders if it is possible to embarrass him. Joe appears to be so confident, so comfortable in his own skin; Ben admires that and envies it a bit. Joe knows exactly what he can do--he will be set in the Arena with his shooting skills alone. Ben, well. Unless there are ingredients to bake a poisoned cake, he's pretty sure that he'll be screwed. Especially if Roger will not help... Sighing as he rises, the blond locates clothing, which has been placed in his room for him--the Capitol must have gotten his sizes, which he finds downright creepy--and heads back along the corridor of the train after washing up and dressing. He halts outside the door of the compartment wherein they sat yesterday.

Inside Joe speaks animatedly to Roger, waving a fork about. Their mentor appears far less irascible today than he had before; his gaze is serious as he leans in towards Joe. They appear to be eating breakfast together, and Brian's curly dark head is bent over some sort of sheaf of curling paper in the background. Ben feels his stomach twist. What if he is missing something crucial? Why hadn't they woken him up? Already at a disadvantage, he is sure. Stomach souring now, Ben shoves open the compartment door with a little more force than is strictly necessary.

Joe's eyes instantly rise and brighten as he sees Ben, and the other feels his stomach leap and roil in shame and something else as he does his best to smile at his fellow tribute before walking round the table behind Roger. "Morning, sunshine," the mentor quips. "Nice of you to join us." Certainly chipper, a far cry from before. Wonder what Joe said to him. With a sharp breath expelled from both nostrils, Ben sits beside and nods to Roger.

Joe offers him a plate of eggs. "Hey Ben," he greets easily. "Roger was just telling me why it's a really dumb idea to light a fire in the Arena." Leaning over he adds in a stage whisper "Here's a hint--people are gonna see you." Body shifting back with a wink and a grin, Joe adds "...he was just about to tell me a good way to find shelter."

Ben accepts the eggs and sets them down, turning his face towards Roger's. "How _do_ you find shelter?" He inquires of their mentor.

Shifting his glasses up so they rest in his hair and rubbing a hand across his face, Roger groans. "Fuck, I'm not awake. Pass that marmalade, wouldja mate?"

Ben makes no move to do so. "How do you find shelter, Roger?" he repeats, voice low.

Roger growls with a roll of his eyes and reaches across the table. Ben moves quickly and slams his arm down on top of Roger's in just the right way that, if he had thrown his weight a little harder, Roger would now be sporting a broken arm. Joe lets out a tiny screech and Brian shoots upright as a teacup wobbles and hits the floor with a crash. 

Ben's sea-green eyes stare into Roger's blue ones, and eventually he lifts his arm enough for the mentor to withdraw his. Shaking out and massaging the muscles of his forearm, Roger glares pointedly at Ben. "The THING about shelter is you've got to find yourself a vantage point in order to avoid any... nasty surprises." He snaps, gaze flickering to Ben's arms as he snatches up the jar of marmalade. "Another vantage, or advantage, I should say, is procuring sponsors." Roger scoops the butter substitute and spreads it across his bread deftly. "Getting people to like you is important, and having some sort of marketable quirk works wonders. You, now," Lifting his eyebrows and tearing a chunk of bread with his teeth, the mentor chews thoughtfully as he stares Ben down. "...you are not off to a stellar start on that, my friend."

Ben flushes bright red. He opens his mouth to apologise, or--he doesn't quite know what; his temper had gotten the best of him and truth be told it is still flaring--Joe lets out a second strangled sound, however, and leaps out of his own chair. "Look, there it is!" He rushes to the window, eyes wide. They are coming into the Capitol. "Wow, it's friggin HUGE! Get a load of this, Ben!" Ben shudders and remains seated as on the train platform, he sees hundreds upon hundreds of brightly-dressed folk, gaudily coloured in outfit and makeup and hair, looking like peacocks with the brightest possible plumage. They come into view waving and roaring their approval. Joe waves back with a bright smile.

"Better keep that wrestling move," snorts Roger, leaning towards Ben with a jerk of his head at Joe. "That lad there knows what he's doing."

Ben has no witty response to that.

***

They are herded into an enormous space just off the train, in a building where they are separated. Joe waves, as cheerful as always. Ben nods to him, but feels his level of comfort diminishing as the other moves away. Ridiculous, they can't be together all the time, and they're not coming here to be friends! Come on, Ben! He shakes his head at himself and allows people to lead him away.

The area Ben is led to looks like a gigantic laboratory or perhaps a washroom. Its walls are shiny and made of something akin to chromium. People with garish shades of makeup and hair, but clothed in nondescript white, march him to a tub alongside a table. They douse Ben with some liquid that vaguely stings and scrub him furiously all over with a rough stone-like object. They soap up his hair before rinsing it and him, spraying a strong-smelling substance over his body. Shining a bright light into his face and over his skin, they appear to be checking his pores, and roughly tip his face from side to side a few times. Pluck hairs from around his eyebrows, smooth the already-soft skin of his chest.... Finally, they are done, leaving Ben feeling almost flayed as he waits wearing a thin gown for the arrival of his stylist. 

Ben's stomach clenches into sickly knots at the prospect of having to introduce himself to someone new so that they can pretty him up and show him off before his untimely murder. Great. His concerns are greatly eased when a familiar head of midnight hair enters the room and comes up to him. "Brian!" Ben speaks gladly. "Are you taking me to meet my stylist, then?"

"Hullo Ben. Actually, no. I am your stylist," Brian smiles. "it's a bit of an... irregular arrangement, but. With Roger being, well, Roger, I am one of the few stylists and people he can apparently stand. So I've been tasked as your major-domo and your stylist as well. I'll be working with both you and Joe. That's alright, I hope?" the tall man asks, seeming worried that it may not be.

"Oh! Yes, of course it is," Ben hastily nods as he realises his frozen expression might be taken as disagreeable. "A little shocked, but I'm honestly relieved. Figured I'd be put on display for a load of people while someone shouted at me that I'm not embodying their, erm, Look."

Brian laughs. "Oh, well I'm not that kind of stylist. Though there are others who are, trust me. But yes, I'm happy to make you feel as comfortable as you possibly can while wearing my creations. As comfortable as you can be in a place, a situation like this..." His head dips and lips tremble again, sorrow etched plainly into the lines of his hands, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Ben wonders what made Brian like this; he certainly is compassionate, but it seems there is something more to the compassion than simple sympathy. As if his sorrow is a personal one. Ben shakes himself free of the wondering as Brian looks into his eyes and intones "But you will be in front of loads of people for your interview after the Tribute Parade and your first training session, all beginning this afternoon and evening. I'm sorry about that, but it can't be helped." 

Ben feels his stomach sink into his feet but attempts a smile. " 'S okay. I'll have you to help me, yeah? You, and Roger, and Joe." He puts Joe's name on the tail-end of the phrase automatically, though technically they are competitors. Somehow it makes him feel safe.

Brian nods seriously, reaching out and squeezing Ben's shoulder with his long thin fingers. "Yes, Ben. You will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I have Brian as stylist for a reason, ooh backstory alert! Also I just want him to be around the boys as much as humanly possible with his soothing presence. They need him when they're forced to deal with the fiery nature that is Roger's ;P
> 
> Training is ahead, as well as the interview after the tribute parade, I'm excited!!!
> 
> I hope you're enjoying this, loves! Comments appreciated <3


	5. ...For A Love Gone Stale

The training area is underground. That's what Brian says. It seems ludicrous to Ben that they have just been dolled up and poked and prodded only for his stylist to hand him an outfit that looks like a jumpsuit--comfortable, actually, and shimmery grey, like the specks of coal he sees in granite as he walks home past the men hauling rocks up out of the mine shafts--and lead him to another room where Roger and Joe are waiting for them.

Joe is dressed in the same garb as Ben, and the blond's heart lifts as he sees Joe waving his pale animated hands about. He seems to be miming his experience with the beautifiers (Ben figures that is what they would be called, or even what they may actually call themselves. Beautifiers of the ugly inhuman tributes). A smile shoots across Roger's mobile emotive face, chasing away the typical sullen fury or seriousness that Ben has thus far seen there. The mentor puts a hand on Joe's shoulder and laughs, and Brian seems to be gladdened by this sight as well; the tall man's shoulders lose their stiffness and his facial expression relaxes ever-so-slightly as he and Ben come up to Roger and Joe.

Joe is relieved to see them. Though he has been trying to prepare himself for what is to come, even his jokes are laced with desperation. But Ben's presence calms him down, grounding him by virtue of the other tribute's quiet warmth. Maybe it is because of what Ben had done for him before, or their shared state now; all he knows is that he means the smile that stretches across his face as he grasps Ben by the shoulder. "Good to see you in one piece after those tortures, Benny. Ready to train?"

"Not at all," Ben blurts out honestly, half-expecting Joe to laugh. But he only receives an empathetic glance as Joe squeezes his shoulder.

"Yeah, me neither."

"Well boo-fucking-hoo, better cry your rivers now and get ready, lads," Roger snaps. "This isn't the time for hand-holding. People will be sizing you up in Training--Gamemakers and other tributes. You need to project an organised front here, as Bri's started with those outfits," he points to each of the young men, who nod silently. "Unite yourselves as he and I do." Roger's glance at the tall stylist twinkles and Brian rolls his eyes fondly with a small smile, putting his hand on Roger's shoulder. "You'll do this to confuse the other tributes, put 'em off balance, like. But keep your focus on picking up skills to keep yourselves alive." Folding his arms across his chest their mentor adds "Now what are you both best at?" Ben and Joe look at each other and then back at Roger, who expels an explosive sigh. "Anything? Come on, now's the chance for you to brag about yourselves. What can you do to survive?"

Again Joe glances at Ben before looking down. What can he do? Well he knows he has always needed help. Ben's jaw clenches a bit, and then he is the first to speak. "Joe's an amazing shot with a bow. Excellent, truly. My father buys his squirrels, says he hits 'em in the eye dead-centre every time."

Joe shuffles his shoulders and rubs his hands together, awkward in the face of such glowing praise. "Well Ben's strong," he says suddenly. The blond ducks his face away. "I've seen him haul two fifty-pound sacks of flour into the bakery and carry them all the way to the back ovens. You also climbed up on the runaway bread truck that one time, remember?" Joe whistles. "Crawled on the top and leapt off the side to slow it down enough to stop. Crazy stuff goes down in District Twelve."

"That only helps me, erm." Stumbling over the words "...It means I can move a bit," Ben says. "Joe's got endurance, he's fast and flexible."

"Dancing," Joe waves that off. "That's what that's from. What'm I gonna do, get into a dance battle with everybody in the Arena?"

"No, you'll be climbing trees and picking off people from a distance and eating squirrels," Ben begins heatedly. He glances at Roger. "Right? If he gets to a bow--"

"You'll be rocking hand-to-hand combat, Ben. Just decking people with your super strong fists and gigantic fifty-pound rocks. If _I_ get jumped it's bye-bye Joey." Joe shows off his thinner arms, making a joking face that contains real sincerity underneath.

Ben explodes. "Come off it, Joe--you're so much more amply equipped than I am, you could win this thing! I have no chance!" Something sparkles in his eyes. Tears? Ben sniffs, swipes hard underneath his nose. "My parents didn't even tell me goodbye, alright? What's that say about my chances? Your family KNOWS you're gonna be back, you've got to be!" He clenches his fists and turns away. "Why d'you think--?" Ben cuts himself off and licks his lips. Brian puts a soothing hand on his shoulder and Ben leans into the touch. Joe does not know what to say in the face of his fellow tribute's sudden burst of furious anguish.

"Well," Roger clears his throat. "Now that's sorted we know you both have strengths, so my advice is don't show them off in training. Doubt I have to worry about that since you were both so forthcoming about yourselves just now," he utters the last sardonically. Brian shoots a reproving glance his way, and the shorter man lifts one shoulder, wishing he had a cigarette to steady himself and hating this duty. Roger roughly pushes his fingers through his hair, spiking it up even higher than before and then clapping a hand on Joe's tense shoulder. "But just--learn all you can while ya keep some surprises at bay. Bastards don't need t' know everything about you right away." Keeping hold of Joe's shoulder and looking at Brian and Ben, the mentor intones "Be yourselves, just know that you're bein' watched." Wow, great pep talk Roger. The irascible man attempts to soften those words with a smile as he relinquishes Joe.

"We'll be rooting for you, boys," Brian says. The two walk over to the opposite wall of the room they are in, which lifts to reveal an elevator, for which its single stop is its destination of the training room. "Good luck."

"Thanks Brian," Joe replies for them as Ben has not looked at anyone; he is wiping tears unobtrusively from the curves of his full cheeks. "Thank you too, Roger." Roger nods, lifting a hand to them both as Joe and Ben step into the lift. Ben's movements are jerky as he turns around to face their mentor and stylist with a nod. "Are you ready for this, Ben?" Joe asks gently, seemingly worried as Ben catches sight of his serious expression and the wrinkle between his eyes as the elevator door closes and they begin their descent.

Ben's heart lurches but his deep voice is flat. "Ready as I'm gonna be, Joe." He rolls his shoulders and bounces a little, trying to psych himself up and listen to Roger after he'd blown up like an idiot back there. It's the least he can do. "Let's rock 'n roll."

***

A lithe Capitol specimen intones the rules of training as all of the tributes gather together in the enormous room. Groupings of tables and ranges and bins are spread around the space in what appears to be stations. There is to be no fighting between or among tributes here; they are meant to work. "Save your energy to kill each other for the Arena," the eyes of the training director sparkle and Joe figures she will be one of the first people in line betting on the Games. He swallows and glances at Ben, who is staring fixedly at her. If looks could kill.... "In less than a week twenty-three of you will be dead. A larger percentage from reasons one may not consider as being a part of the Arena, such as starvation or exposure. Nevertheless, that will be the case. Learn survival skills as well as how to kill each other, do as your mentors have instructed, and may the odds be ever in your favour." She nods sharply and ceases speaking.

Ben looks at Joe and lifts his eyebrows. "Happy happy Hunger Games," he tosses out softly in a droning approximation of their district presenter, and Joe lets out a hearty guffaw before he can stop himself. Other tributes whip around to stare, but Joe only finds it in him to be delighted by the answering smile that lights up Ben's eyes and fills his round face with sweet shyness, as if he cannot believe he was able to make Joe laugh.

Joe nudges him conspiratorially. "Okay, just for that Benny boy, you get to choose where we train first. C'mon." 

Ben flushes, biting his lower lip as he smiles again, his cheeks and ears reddening. "Alright, erm. What about... ropes, or something?" He points out a knotting station that is empty as the other tributes have shot off to more glamourous things, like learning to make explosives. "You can--you know how to make snares already, right?"

"Yeah, but this isn't about you picking something you know I can do, Ben," Joe reminds him.

"Right, well, maybe I'm doing it to get you to learn some more as well as figuring out how to lay traps myself," Ben replies. "You might not be the BEST at snares."

He freezes, wondering if his teasing was too much; he doesn't know how to do this. But Joe nods at him. "Touche."

As the two tributes from District Twelve work diligently with rope, they spot deadly accuracy with spears and knives, feats of incredible terrifying strength from a large Career boy from District One and a girl whose knives never miss their targets. One of the tributes from District Four hurls a spear completely through a test dummy's head with such force it rips off at the neck. He looks around as though hoping no one else had seen, and Ben is struck by the haunted expression in the tribute's blue eyes--as though he never wants to make such a throw again.

Joe of course rocks the ropes and knows about all sorts of edible plants. One of the District Eleven tributes, a medium-sized young man with a darker complexion and wide grey eyes aces the healing herbs station next to the plants one. Ben follows Roger's advice and steers clear of weight training as Joe dodges past archery, but the baker boy excels at camouflage. "This is why I do the cakes," he cracks, dabbing bits of mud and clay and crushed berries and leaves to show the dappled forest sunlight upon the trunk of a tree. The appearance of wood extends from his fingertips all the way up to his shoulder when he's done. "Guess frosting art is good for something."

"Holy cow Ben," Joe's eyes are wide. "That's way better than good, if you painted up your whole body like that and stood super still I'd think you were a tree! The sexiest tree," he adds before he can stop himself. He expects Ben to be repulsed by that, or at least uncomfortable, but the blond only smiles.

"I appreciate that, Joe. Now if only there were ingredients to bake a poisoned cake in the arena..."

"Well I don't know about poisoning one, but heck I'd be up to eat a regular cake you made and celebrate every moment I wasn't dying! I mean," Joe gulps, squeaking on the last couple of words. He really has to get better at not constantly joking about certain heavy topics... but Ben puts a hand on his forearm, his green-blue gaze gentle and open with warmth and understanding.

***

After cleaning up from Training and getting a bite to eat, it is time for the Tribute Parade that night. Ben and Joe are given dark slightly shimmery outfits, on which neon, copper, and other alloys will infuse flames that engulf their shoulders. Brian enjoys both pyrotechnics and the photographic looks of various elements. "And District Twelve is the district of fire, is it not?" He says, hazel eyes twinkling. "Fire is used to heat the coal you mine, yes?" Ben and Joe nod and glance nervously at one another as Brian continues "A dear friend used to tell me, 'Make everyone's eyes pop, darling! Put on a show!' so that's what I want to do here. Do you boys trust me?"

Again Ben glances over at Joe, who is nodding, before looking back into the gentle gaze of this tall man who has never offered anything but kindness and support from the first. "Yes," he speaks firmly. "I trust you." And if anything goes wrong, he can just ask Joe to rip off his top and vice versa... focus, Ben. "I trust both of you," he bumbles as Roger has trotted over as well. "All." He includes Joe, of course he includes Joe. This is ridiculous Ben, come on.

"...Doing that might be a mistake," Roger quips, "But hey, Bri's idea could really scare the piss out of some people and I am all for that. Bloody vultures," he growls the last phrase in a tone low enough for only Ben to hear, as Brian has begun fussing over Joe's outfit and smoothing down his hair, perfectionism at work. Ben nods at Roger in solidarity. He is tired of these people too; their hungry gazes plotting, betting, coveting and then somehow being more than willing to cheer as people are forced into an arena for slaughter. It is all sorts of messed up, really. 

Ben feels the injustice of all of this burning in his guts like the fire Brian says is, will be chemically bound to their suits once they press the button to ignite it. "It won't catch your skin or hair ablaze because of the way the chemical composition has been calibrated," he assures them. "May be a bit startling when it first flares, though." Roger lets out a chuckle and rubs his hands together as Brian turns to fold Ben's collar now and hands him a tiny remote control, its button attached to a ring. "Put this on and push it when you're both ready," the stylist tells the two. "Rock and roll."

"Let's show these bastards what District Twelve is made of!!!" Roger crows. Joe whoops and Ben climbs to leap up beside him into the chariot that pulls them onto the track for the parade.

Roaring crowds, bright colours. That is what they see first. The sound presses on Ben's ears oppressively so he focuses on the other tributes and their costumes in an attempt to block out the overwhelming amount of noise.

Districts One and Two glow with bright fanciful designs, fluffy cravats and spiked collars and trailing scarves. Three utilises a dark metallic finish on clothes with sharp edges wherein tiny electrical flashes spark intermittently as they ride in a mechanised chariot. Little light-bulbs they have, with wire paneling along the sides. Ingenious. Shimmering blues abound in the flowing dress-like robes of the tributes from District Four, setting off the blonde hair of the female tribute and showcasing the sparkling blue gaze of her male companion. They both have hempen belts of silvery white, woven in the style of a fish net; hanging at her hips and around his waist behind his legs, flaring like skirt and coattails. 

District Five has a similar style to Three's, but enormous collars resting upon its tributes' shoulders represent solar panels, so it seems. Miniature nuclear reactors whir and buzz, adorning their leggings. Districts Six through Ten have trouble; Six, Seven, and Ten get the worst concepts: lumbering automotive industry, lumber itself, and livestock. The tributes from Six are lucky, wearing sleek silver robes a la the bullet trains. Seven, well.

"They coulda really used your sexy tree-painting skills, Ben," Joe whispers, snickering. "Because oh my god."

"...I think I'd rather look like a tree holding a hatchet than a bovine though," Ben murmurs back. "Those poor people from Ten."

"True," Joe gasps. "PLEASE tell me those are not stylised udders!"

"No," Ben closes his eyes briefly in horrified second-hand embarrassment on behalf of the other tributes. "Mate, they CAN'T be."

Joe leans forward squinting as their chariot comes up just behind Ten's while Eleven moves alongside in the tunnel where they wait to ride into the Parade Circle and see the President. He lets out a shout of laughter. "It is! They are! Hold me, Ben, I can't deal with this." Joe leans his head against his fellow tribute's shoulder, making Ben's heart thump. If he leaned his cheek in Joe's hair and put his arm around....

"Thank goodness for our stylist," Ben utters with a cough as Joe mercifully straightens up again. He holds up his hand, the second finger upon which he'd slipped the ring Brian gave him. "You ready to do this?"

Joe looks at the remote and nods. "Yeah buddy, let's go!" He screeches as Ben bares his teeth in a grin, pressing the button as they ride out of the tunnel. Even as the tributes from Eleven hold their heads high wearing crown like apparatuses woven from what looks like wheat stalks and the leaves of apple trees, both do a double-take as the pair of men beside them explode into flames. Colours of red and orange, yellow, blue--even green from the copper flash out of the tongues of fire that lick across black attire.

Joe seizes Ben's hand and thrusts their combined fists into the air as they show the roaring crowd they are here; do not count out District Twelve, do not ignore us--we are human, we are alive. LOOK AT US, PEOPLE OF THE CAPITOL, AND SEE WHAT YOU HAVE WROUGHT! On the television screens the twelfth district is getting far more than its share of airtime--their fire has lit up the airwaves, so to speak. Spreading the news.

"Fire suits you," Ben gasps to Joe at the end of their trek around the circle and the conclusion of the parade. He squeezes the other man's hand, feeling dizzy from the lights and movement and sound, of course, that must be it; but the flames had bequeathed a shine onto Joe's fair skin and accentuated the dark rich auburn-brown colours of his hair. His hazel eyes are bright and dancing as he looks at Ben. But no, the warmth in Ben's chest is just from all of the excitement. Has to be. It is absurd how happy he feels as Joe responds

"Ah, Ben. In the light of those flames, nothing compares to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Brian has a dear friend who called him "darling", I wonder who that could be? ;P
> 
> *And yes, Joe made a reference to a Prince quote here (as he did on a comment to Ben on Instagram) because I simply had to.
> 
> *Readers may notice the order of occurrences is a bit different from the actual novelisation of The Hunger Games, which I hope is forgivable. I think it makes more sense story-wise to have training occur as Brian readies the boys' outfits for the Tribute Parade :) soon to follow: the interview!
> 
> Reactions welcome and appreciated <3


	6. Take My Hand

Mike Myers adores his job. He is the darling of Panem, their information guru, the greatest newscaster. And he of course hears ALL the juiciest gossip. Tribute time is no exception. After the first day of training, when the Gamemakers murmur their initial impressions and the stylists all preen and hiss at each other to showcase their most fabulous work-- then comes the real important bit, the interviews. He is ready and raring for the interviews.

This year he is particularly excited about District Twelve.

In a flashy aqua suit with flowers on it, the brightest possible attire; go-go boots and curly bouffant hair abounce in his excitement, the interviewer bares his teeth in a grin as he slaps his hands on his arms and cries "There we are, just for funsies! Right! Now," he zeroes in on every tribute, all enormous sunglasses and teeth and hair. 

He asks questions that pertain specifically to each tribute; clearly he has done his homework. Teases the girl with knife skills about how sharp she is, and the young man from District Four he asks what about fishing will be an asset in the Games?

Stroking his dark beard in thought, that particular tribute says "Well Mike, that's a good question. I think for me, it'd have to be the fact that I'm quite good at spearing fish. So if anyone is wondering, I can harpoon, and have harpooned, large things. That means at least I won't go hungry!" he adds after an extended moment wherein the crowd sucks in its breath. 

Myers laughs, clapping the other on the shoulder. "Good for you! You heard it here first, folks--Gwilym will be hosting a fish fry."

Blue eyes crinkle. "Well I didn't say I was necessarily a good hand at _cooking_ fish, but alright, thank you, Mike."

Tributes from Five and Six seem frightened; Seven resigned. Various levels of sullenness and anger abound, and one girl bursts into tears. The District Eleven tributes are smiling and appear quite engaged with the questioning, however, and that startles almost everyone. 

Until of course it's District Twelve's turn. "So," the interviewer leans in. "Joseph, you came out swinging with that fire, didn't you?" He raises his eyebrows at the audience. "So tell me. Was it real?"

"Oh, yeah," says Joe. "Yeah, it was real. And terrifying," he adds, hamming it up and clutching his chest. "My heart practically stopped. I thought we were gonna have Roasted Joe for a hot minute there." The crowd roars in approval and laughter.

"A hot minute, hahahahaha, well we are all EXTREMELY grateful that didn't happen, aren't we, folks?" Another roar goes up from the crowd.

"So'm I," Joe cracks. "Our stylist is pretty great. It's a shame I didn't have the chance to bust out my cool down moves, though."

Myers raises his eyebrows. "Oh? Cool down moves, what are those? It looks like he's going to show us!" He holds up his hands and whistles as Joe rises and sticks out his behind, hopping backwards before dipping and swinging his head, stepping sideways and turning in a dance that is actually quite good. Ben, glancing up at the monitor backstage, guffaws and feels light spread through his entire body. He is so impressed by how positively expressive Joe is. Honestly it floors him. "Wow wow wow!!!" The interviewer enthuses as Joe grins and bows after his dance. "You have quite the dance moves there, Joe!"

"Thanks Mike," Joe gasps as he sits down again, dramatically wiping his forehead. "My little brother is gonna be so embarrassed seeing that. Sorry, John. Love ya kid." He blows a kiss.

"...Speaking of your brother," The interviewer now speaks intently, leaning in. "On a serious note. We were all moved, seeing you volunteer for him like that. Nobody has done it before. Nobody!" Joe nods as he listens, swallowing. "And I imagine that he came and told you goodbye, yes? What did you say to him?"

Joe smiles as best he can. At the broken, helpless expression in his fellow tribute's eyes as the camera zooms in, Ben realises with a shock at how stupid he'd been not to see it before-- Joe smiles sometimes to keep himself from crying. "I told him I'd be back to play catch," Mazzello's voice cracks but he continues, tone growing stronger: "And I meant that, so don't anybody count me out."

"We won't," Myers says, pumping Joe's hand. "And try you will. Joseph Mazzello, ladies and gentlefolk!" He rises and roars, and the crowd enthusiastically responds.

"All right!" Roger intones as Joe comes backstage. "That was bloody good, they certainly noticed you, Mister Class Clown. Ben, you're up." 

Ben breathes sharply and gives their mentor a curt nod. Joe shoots him a thumbs-up as he squares his shoulders and jogs out to sit with Myers, already sweating before the questions begin.

"So, Ben," the interviewer purrs after their initial exchange of pleasantries. "Do you have a special someone back home? I mean, the way you look people ought to be lining up in DROVES. Am I right?" He puts the query to the crowd and there are some incredibly enthusiastic screams.

Ben swallows. He has been thinking on this and decides to be honest. What could it hurt, really? He's on his way to a probable death, anyway. "Not really," he replies. "I mean, I've always felt that... a sort of longing for someone to love, you know? But no, there's no one waiting." There are sighs. "...There is someone I've got feelings for," he admits, palms sweating as he presses them together. His heart thumps. "Just--I don't think they really knew who I was before the Reaping." He was just the baker's boy and that was all.

"Ohhh," the interviewer is nodding sagely. Like he's ever been in this situation, smug bastard. "Well here's what I think--you go back home after winning this thing, make your declaration of love, and this person will HAVE to go out with you. Hahaha, problem solved!" He spreads his arms like he's a magician who has conjured the perfect plan for Ben just like that.

"Heh, well thank you, but I don't think that'll help," Ben croaks. He feels himself getting emotional and tries to stop and control himself. Deep breaths, Ben, come on. Just because you've started recalling what happened when you met before.... This is awful, it's so hard.

The interviewer has leaned in, shushing the crowd, all sympathy. "Why not?" He asks.

Ben clears his throat and wipes his face. Looks out over the crowd but does not see them. He sees only an expressive face with a beaming excitable grin and kind hazel eyes. "Because... because he came here with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, because aaaaahhhh oh my goodness Ben! What are you doing, mate? :0 Putting his heart out for everyone to see, brave boy. How's Joe gonna react though?
> 
> Also you may have noticed I dropped a certain name... well actually a couple of names ;) 
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	7. As Fear Took; I See No Day

Joe stares at Ben in silence as he comes down the stairs backstage after his interview has finished, nodding to Roger and giving Brian a small smile as the stylist pats him on the shoulder. He had faltered upon the stairs as he caught Joe's eyes but does not look at him now, and for once in his life the young Mazzello man cannot find any words.

The only emotion he is certain that he feels right off is regret, to know of Ben's feelings only now when they are headed for death. Is that why Ben had spoken up, last hurrah, no holds barred, it's cards on the table time? Joe wonders. Yet if that is the case, why had Ben showed his hand to everyone just now rather than coming to Joe himself, directly? Sure, such an admittance could be hard, but no more difficult (or downright terrifying) than admitting your feelings to thousands of people on air. Shock and confusion and, okay, a bit of hurt have started whirling and crashing around inside of Joe's head and heart as he thinks on this. And so he says nothing.

Ben has blown it. He is certain of that as soon as he gets a look at Joe's stupefied face when he comes down the stairs backstage. Forget the serious suave love confession or the power of a love story; Ben just looks like an awkward idiot who blurted out his affections on live TV. Great move there, Benjamin, a real smooth operator you are. What even is this, anyway? A crush? Long-term affection from afar coupled with the memories of Joe he has, and the heightened nature of their current connection? Yeah, Ben is certain now that he was and is an idiot.

Roger does not appear to think so. He is smiling. He had told them to be likeable, quirks get sponsors. "Everyone likes vulnerability, Ben. And gossip. Never mind the thought of such a heartthrob being insecure about his feelings-- well done, lad. Sponsors are going to be lining up for you!" Their mentor beams and hauls Joe over as well. "For both'a you, now."

Ben glances at Joe, who looks away as though embarrassed or... something. Ben's chest clenches and a lump fills his throat as Joe inquires "'Kay, what exactly does this do for me, Roger?" With an edge to his voice.

"It makes you seem desirable in more than just the boy-next-door class clown kinda way you've been showcasing. Now there's an unattainable factor thrown in, which is sexy." Roger waggles his eyebrows as Ben flushes bright red. "We can work with this, trust me. Use it for some good things."

Use it? "...Okay," Joe responds slowly. He notices Ben flinch and a pained expression crosses his face, letting Joe know that not only are his feelings real, but that Ben is uncomfortable with using them as an angle for the Games. Joe holds his breath, wondering if the other will speak up against the idea. 

But Ben is not going to argue with Roger, he knows the drill here. So he nods as well. "Right." Ben says. "Do what --we need." And then "I think I'm going to head on, get to bed so I'll be ready for more training tomorrow. And we'll be showing our skills soon, yeah? Good night," he says after receiving an affirmative nod from their mentor and stylist. "Your clothing designs were really something," he tells Brian, shaking his hand and then Roger's. He still does not look at Joe, though the other does try to catch his eye.

"Good night Ben," Joe sighs loudly as the other starts to head for the elevator. Ben freezes for an instant, his head and shoulders dropping. 

Low voice rough and quiet, "Sleep well, Joe," Ben replies and rushes into the lift and away before anything else can be said.

***

Joe is amply prepared to be cheerful and civil the next morning as they continue training. He figures best-case scenario is to continue on as before, because hey, it is actually a compliment for Ben to like him so much. And he really does appear to mean it in an awkward not-gonna-meet-your-eyes-now-Joe kind of way. Joe will just have to convince him that it's fine, no need to be embarrassed, they are friends. Means they can go on being friends, or whatever else Ben wants them to be, barring the occasion of their grisly deaths in the Arena. ...Yeah Joe is probably gonna need to reword that last part.

But Ben doesn't give him the chance.

Roger comes in to eat breakfast with Joe and Brian arrives a few minutes later. The mentor goes right into talking about Training Day Two and the fact that "The meeting you'll be going to show off your skills for the Gamemakers is tomorrow morning, and by afternoon you'll know your lethal game score before the last big bash. So first things first--"

"Uh, Roger, I don't wanna stop you, but shouldn't we wait for Ben to get here?" Joe interrupts. "I mean he's doing all of this too." Brian and Roger share a significant glance with one another that Joe sees. His heart bumps. "He is, right?"

"Yes," Roger speaks slowly, something flashing in his light eyes that Joe has never seen before. Is that uncertainty? "He will be, but."

"But what?" Joe's voice goes up. He can't help it. Can everyone just stop with the crazy revelations, please? "What's going on?"

Roger looks to Brian for help, and the stylist gently says "Ben came to us," his voice is soft and sweet, but Roger's is strident and matter-of-fact.

"He asked me to coach him separately these last two days." Attempting to soften the blow, the blond man's high voice grows quieter in an attempt to be gentle: "--At this point, this usually happens. You won't be going into the Arena as mates...,"

"--He'll be coming to the tribute celebration tomorrow night," Brian hurriedly continues as Joe flinches whilst he listens to Roger's words. Roger shrugs as Bri shoots him a reproachful look in response to the bluntness of his revelation. Joe has to know how things stand. "So you'll see each other there. And here, of course."

"Yeah, of course," Joe nods. "Why would I be upset about this? It's not like we can both win the Games, can't go in there just focused on--whatever our relationship is." Why would Ben say he has feelings for Joe before pulling this crap, though? "He says he--likes me, and the next thing is that we can't train together?" What does that mean?! "But fine, it's fine." Joe nods sharply, grabbing a bagel and spreading cheese spread across it with a few sharp jerks before stuffing the bread into his mouth. Its taste makes him recall warm light, bare flour-dusted shoulders, and hope. Hope and help given in and bequeathed upon Joe in his darkest time. So much for that now.

Joe stands up abruptly, Brian's gentle worried eyes following his movement as Roger raises his eyebrows. "I'm heading to train," he says, tone of voice a bit strangled even as he attempts to remain calm and boisterous and friendly. He's the boy next door with the sexy unattainable vibe, got to remember that. "Alone now. See you later Roger, Brian. If you see Ben," He pauses, voice nearly breaking. Come on, keep it together Joe. What did you honestly think was going to happen here? It's the Hunger Games. He swallows his emotions and his breakfast, yearning, aching to be back home. "Tell him I said-" _I wish this wasn't the way things were, I really like you too and maybe we could have a chance at getting to know each other better, having something more if we weren't here. But we are here._ There's the rub. "Good luck," Joe finishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short(er) chapter, loves! Next one has the Gamemakers' scores and the tribute gala, though, so that's exciting. Even after this training development, dun dun
> 
> Roger is a sass master who basically says necessary but sometimes uncouth things and I friggin love him :D
> 
> Hope you're enjoying, comments are always appreciated <3


	8. So Grey Is The Face...

Ben receives Joe's message of luck from Roger in matter-of-fact fashion after the mentor is exhorted to speak by Brian, and the tribute feels awful. He had been certain Joe would not want to deal with him after his ridiculous confession. ...Truth be told, Ben had panicked when he returned to the penthouse alone. Used to being alone, he'd been hit suddenly with a thought that, like a sucker punch directly to the gut, took all his breath away. Already, opening up his heart to Joe has opened Ben up to be even MORE alone in the Arena. The Games are played (and won, as well as definitely lost) alone. 

He sucks in a huge heaving breath and feels a stabbing pain flare within his chest. This is the right thing, it will help them both, the distance. They cannot be friends --never mind anything else-- in the Hunger Games. But oh, how that realisation hurts. 

Ben had come to eat breakfast after Joe left alone for training, like a bloody coward, and he returns to his sleeping area to dress for his own trek to the training room. Really it's because he cannot look into Roger's face, cannot bear to see his set expression and hear him say "This is how the Games go; this is how things have to be," though Ben knows Roger is right, logically. Yet feelings are not logical, of course.

Ben bends over the chest of drawers that strangely has all of his clothing sizes--not so strangely, perhaps; knowing Brian as he now does, Ben understands in this case having clothes made for him is intended to be comforting--and hears a knock upon his door. Speaking of the stylist, "Ben?" The gentle tenor voice of Brian May calls. "Are you alright? Ready to go to training?"

Ben closes his eyes and clenches one hand atop the mahogany surface of his dresser drawers. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and tries to answer. "Yeah, Brian, I-- I'm coming," he gets out, but his voice breaks and cracks as he turns, it goes high with emotion, and suddenly Ben collapses to the floor with a sharp thud. 

He hits arse-first, so that's a blessing, but his body is shaking and he clutches his hair in both hands, gasping like some pitiful child, and he hears the door open before swift footsteps move over the floor to him. Ben closes his eyes in shame and presses his reddening face into his knees as "Oh, Ben," Brian's voice says, and a long arm wraps round Ben's shuddering shoulders, fingers stroking his hair. "There now."

Ben feels Brian beside him, the tall man having bent his long limbs to crouch and then sit down on the floor next to the younger man, arm still resting atop Ben's shoulders with a comforting weight. The care this stylist is taking of him only makes Ben shake harder, tears filling his eyes and pouring down his cheeks. How pathetic is this, him coming here to the Capitol to die and only NOW finding somebody to love as well as people who genuinely seem to care about what happens to him?! This situation is all so screwed up. "Brian," the blond sobs, turning into the stylist, who instantly pulls Ben to his chest, wrapping both arms around him and holding tight. 

Keeping Ben pressed securely against his smooth skin, for he still wears an open shirt that Ben's tearstained cheek now rests next to, Brian bends his curly head over the other's and rubs his back. The stylist softly begins to sing words about someday, one day coming home. His voice is clear and sweet and melancholy as he holds the tribute close, and again Ben wonders with a sharp burst of curiosity what has caused Brian to be this way. Yet he cannot ask why the man is so compassionate; he simply remains with his face buried in Brian's chest until he has cried himself out.

As Ben shifts and takes his face away from the other man's front, cheeks flaming with embarrassment when his damp cheek sticks to the material of Brian's shirt for a brief moment, the stylist wipes tears from the tribute's face with one hand. His hazel gaze is full of pain even as he tries to smile at Ben. "Feel any better for the crying?" He asks quietly.

Ben clears his throat. "I, uhm. I'm sorry," he instantly apologises, curling in on himself rather than answering. Shifts away as he aches under Brian's calming touch, yet immensely appreciates his presence. "You shouldn't… have to see me this way."

"Why not?" Brian inquires, eyes crinkling a bit. "You have been chosen to go to a place of death. I've seen so many people have this moment of feeling, and honestly you've kept yourself together admirably thus far, Ben. That isn't to say this is in any way less admirable for you to break down," he adds hurriedly, black curls bouncing as he shifts his face to catch Ben's lowering eyes. "Not at all. You have every right to feel strongly about all that is happening to you. I want to help, I only wish I could do more." Brian presses his hands together, eyes aching with sincerity and sorrow. He appears as though he may cry too. "Every year this gets harder…," he murmurs now, almost under his breath. His fingers clench each other tight, knuckles bulging.

"Why do you do it, then?" Ben asks, voice rough, aching. He sniffs hard and wipes at his eyes furiously. "This is terrible, and ugly, and you seem to be really affected by it. Why can't you, I dunno, just stop?" His voice rises now. "If EVERYONE just stopped contributing, and watching, maybe there wouldn't be any more hunger games! Maybe they'd free us, and we could all go-- go back home--" Ben stops as Brian is crying now, face puckered, tears dripping silently down his lean cheeks. 

"Why can't we do it?" The stylist whimpers. "I don't know; oh, they should have, they never got to go home…." 

Ben can tell Brian is referring to someone specifically so "Who?" He asks, low voice now mostly steady. "Who are you talking about, Brian?"

"My mates," Brian says, wiping his face. "I had… two dear friends who went into the Arena. Years ago." His haunted gaze rises to Ben's, and the tribute gets a chill. "You wonder why this is personal for me, why I care, well. That's it. I lost them." He has ceased crying and relaxes his hands a little. "And so I do this because I care and want tributes to have someone care, try to look after them. And I hope someday, one day…," his voice trails off before he adds "...to witness the greatest outcome of any Hunger Games."

Ben's head shoots up and his jaw clenches, but he knows what Brian is doing. Covering as best he can, keeping things ambivalent enough that if others were to hear their words, his would seem like loyal ones-- a Capitol stylist yearning for the most spectacular Hunger Games rather than for a different outcome entirely. Somehow that makes Ben feel stronger. He is not alone if other people feel the injustice too. He stands up now and offers Brian a hand. The stylist rises, holding Ben tight and giving him a nod. 

Brian reaches round to the half-open drawer of the tribute's clothing chest and says "Here, I think this suits your last day of training." It is an orange shirt, the colour of flame, and dark grey trousers of strong breathable fabric. "It's made of strong stuff," he adds, placing the outfit into Ben's arms and squeezing his hands, studying him closely. "Just like you." Brian's lips tremble and he blurts "Bless ya, Ben," before letting go and departing the room at almost a run. He closes the door before Ben can thank him or say anything. The young man undresses and pulls the fabric over his head. 

He has to be strong. Strong as Brian believes he is-- stronger than the Games.

***

Joe itches to go to the archery range when he reaches the training room. He knows that Roger told him not to show his strengths, but right now he really needs to shoot things that won't run or die or shoot back. 

Luckily no one is really nearby when he walks quickly to the range along the rear wall. The Gamemakers aren't watching today either; readying themselves for the skill showcase. What do they have to do to get ready? Put on some swanky suits and exercise their eyes since they'll be watching twenty-four people prepare NOT to suffer immediate demises? Joe snorts. He yanks the bow out of the case of weapons, thinking about the crazy sword hacking and spear throwing he'd seen before. Settling his shoulders and picking up an arrow, he nocks it to the bow and lifts, pulling the string back to his ear and breathing.

He had learned to shoot when he was young; on the weekends his father got off work in the mines, he would take his own bow and Joe and Mary with him into the woods around the district. Somehow shooting and finding tasty herbs for squirrel or rabbit stew became a bonding activity for them all. Joe's father always, always stressed shooting ONLY when there was a shot: "to put down your target quick. We aren't out here to cause pain or to take more than we need." He always smiled and picked a bouquet of flowers for his wife after shooting their supper. "We are here to spread a little joy," he told his children. "And we do all we can."

_We do all we can._ Joe hears those words pounding through his skull as he sends arrow after arrow down the range until he is shaking and gasping, tears blurring his eyes. He drops the bow to his side and wipes at his face, preparing to go down to retrieve the arrows. That was something else hs father always said, don't leave waste behind--but when Joe finally opens his eyes after composing himself, he sees the dark-haired tribute from District Eleven, the one with grey eyes, laying all the spent arrows near him at the entrance of the range. 

"H-hey," Joe blurts, voice coming out strangled as the other has already turned to go. His hair bounces a bit as he pauses and looks back, and Joe is struck by those eyes: enormous and gentle and kind as their owner presses his lips together and watches Joe. "...Thank you," Mazzello says, and a soft smile brightens those gentle eyes as the tribute nods and disappears.

Joe stands still, wondering what all the other had seen, and why he'd gotten Joe's arrows for him. Whatever the reason, he is immensely grateful. His heart swells as he thinks of his father, who would have been not at all surprised by what just happened to Joe. He always had such faith and belief in the goodness of people. Joe believes too, he does. And this is proof: there are still kindnesses possible even in the hellish avenue of these games. Thinking of kindness makes him think of Ben. What he had done for Joe ...well, it outweighs the circumstance in which they find themselves now. His father would certainly say so if he knew what the baker's son had done for his. Joe lifts his head and decides that as he takes the bow and arrows back to where they go. It isn't Ben's fault they are both here, after all.

Having decided that, Joe heads to complete his individual training with a lighter heart and a spring in his step.

***

Soon enough (though it is hours upon hours later, actually-- time gallops along but also seems to crawl) training ends for the day-- and for good and all, officially. It is time for the Gamemakers to assess the tributes' skills.

Being from the twelfth district, Ben and Joe will be rated last. Joe pauses upon entering the waiting area outside the showroom. He sees Ben down at the end, elbows on knees and head dipped forward, seeming pensive in his bright orange shirt and grey trousers. Joe has the opposite look: dark grey t-shirt (that accentuates his paleness, thanks Brian) and bright orange pants. Again they are the only two tributes with matching colour schemes outside of the Tribute Parade. Keep up the united front, he can hear Roger's sharp voice reminding him of that. Feeling eyes on him, Joe starts walking.

Some of the other tributes seem to be sizing him up. Well then. As he gets close to the seat where they are both to wait, his eyes catch Ben's.

The automatic worry and sorrow and fear he sees, coupled with Ben's ever-present awkwardness that Joe cannot comprehend; doesn't Ben SEE himself? Makes Joe's lips lift in a smile and the other returns it. He really does like this guy a lot. "Hey Benny," Joe speaks softly as he sits down, automatically reaching out and taking Ben's hand to give a reassuring squeeze. "I missed ya in training, man. How are things going?"

Ben's heart lurches. He cannot believe this sweet man is being friendly towards him again, after what he pulled (could be because Roger had told them to look unified, but the real tenderness in his face and tone as he took Ben's hand, that is, has got to be more than Joe just playing the game, right?) His lips tremble as he squeezes the other's hand in return. "Hey, Joe. I'm-- sorry about the switch for training, I just..." _honestly figured you'd want nothing else to do with me, and my feelings confession pretty much blew up in my face..._ "I couldn't look ya in the face," the blond mumbles, relinquishing his hold on the other's hand. "And besides, we're competitors." Joe stiffens. "Even though I wish we weren't," Ben's eyes are bright and wistful as he catches Joe's again. Joe is very glad they are no longer avoiding eye contact. "God, I wish--" Ben's deep voice cracks.

"It's okay," Joe says softly. "I totally get it, Ben. I wish things were different too."

They sit in silence together, and it grows comfortable for which Ben is relieved and grateful. Eventually Joe's name is called. 

"Remember to use the weights," Joe speaks up louder now that no one else is in the room with them. "--and beat the crap out of something, Ben. Remember you're a sexy badass who bakes killer cakes." Tree. Sexy TREE, Joe. Oh well.

Ben chuckles, his features completely relaxing in the way Joe likes to see. "Thanks Joe, and you just be yourself. Shoot straight." His blond head dips, strands falling across his forehead as he mumbles something else that sounds like _they're gonna love you,_ maybe. 

"Love you" Joe hears for sure, and he shoots his fellow tribute a smile. "You got it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Brian are bonding! Yesssss! Also Brian totally choked on more tears as he left Ben, went out to the main room, and Roger sighed at him "why do you do this to yourself, Brian? Don't get so bloody attached!" :'( even though Roger totally gets attached too, he's just really angry and won't admit it....  
There will be more said about Brian's mates and I'm already sorry because their story breaks my heart.
> 
> Ooh Joe's bonding with some people! Well, one person--I bet you can/might be able to guess who the tribute from Eleven is ;)
> 
> I keep putting off the actual showcase, but it WILL be in the next chapter, loves! Along with scores and the tribute party. Hope you're still enjoying, comments appreciated <3


	9. Ice-Cold Hearts of Charity Bare

The gymnasium is still set up for training, or at least that is the way it appears to Joe. Only difference is all of the weapons have been gathered into the centre for ease of access. Due to his choice in that morning's training session, Joe already knows how one particular bow feels, and heads to grab it.

His hand is shaking so badly that he knocks a bunch of arrows to the ground. A hearty laugh gets him to look up with a smile and an offhanded shrug at the ready, but the guffaw is not directed at him. One--or several--of the Gamemakers have indulged in too much wine. Along the lines of some of Roger's indulgences, except Roger has not gotten sloppily drunk. One of these men has tripped over his heavy robes and is rolling around upon the floor of the raised platform where the Gamemakers are. Jokes, okay, Joe enjoys jokes too. "Hello!" He calls out brightly to let them know he's there. "Joe Mazzello, District Twelve." He scoops up the fallen arrows and readies himself to shoot. "Since you're falling all over yourselves already, I'm sure I can getcha to fall for me!" He winks but is waved off.

"Begin when you begin," speaks one voice. A craggy-faced grey haired man with intelligent eyes watches Joe closely. That is sad, a guy about the age of his father, or a bit older, is a Gamemaker. Joe shakes out his shoulders, shoving that thought away, and breathes. His first shot flies wide and his second does too, but he imagines Mary beside him telling him he's got this, and recalls the excitement on John's face the time he brought down a deer. Everyone in his section of the district ate well that evening. 

Throwing himself forward with the strength of that memory, Joe rolls up onto one knee and shoots a practice dummy first through the heart and then through its head. He drops a hanging punching bag with a single perfect shot to its rope. Yet the Gamemakers are not noticing. Something else rip-roaringly hilarious is apparently happening, and no one is looking at him except for ol' Craggy Face. But there are twenty people up there. Joe's temper flares then. How is he going to get back home to play catch with John if he doesn't get a fair shake either here or in the Arena? Nocking a trio of arrows, Joe aims right at the wall just behind the heads of the Gamemakers where lightbulbs brighten the room. He rears upright and lets the arrows fly one after the other. Sparks shoot everywhere as the lights explode and Joe shoots one last arrow through the enormous bottle of wine, glass and liquid exploding over the table.

There are screams and stampeding. One Gamemaker lifts up a nerveless hand. "Thank you," Joe speaks loudly once again, this time with an edge to his voice. "Nice to have a captive audience." He bows deeply and flings the bow back into its place. "I appreciate your consideration," he adds, and with a smile worthy of Roger in its ferocity turns and exits the training facility with his head held high.

Joe's heart is pounding and he gasps as the heavy doors boom shut behind him. His eyes lock onto the green-blue gaze of Ben as the other tribute instantly rises, coming over to him. "Hey, mate. How'd it go?" He asks, and Joe makes a strangled noise. Without planning to do so, he grabs Ben and embraces him, pressing his body into the other man's. Joe feels Ben jump in apparent shock, but his strong arms instantaneously wrap around Joe's back and hold tight.

"Benjamin Jones, District Twelve," they hear the intercom voice call, and Ben's body jerks again as Joe lets him go.

"Good luck," Mazzello's voice remains strangled but his sentiment is sincere. He squeezes Ben's arm before practically running to the elevator, heart feeling like it's about to thump right out of his chest. Ben's eyes ask _what happened?_ but honestly Joe doesn't know.

***

"I... snapped for a minute," he admits to them all once Ben returns to their rooms after his scoring. Joe looks apologetically at Roger and Brian. "They made me so mad, weren't even paying attention, so I uh. Shot some arrows at them."

Brian chokes on a sip of water that he's just taken. They have sat down to a meal to eat before the scores are announced. Ben thumps the thin stylist on the back as Roger's intent gaze narrows even further than usual. "What d'you mean, you shot at them?" He asks. "Were there casualties?"

"Oh! Oh, god, no. Not like that--they were just laughing and drinking wine so I shot three arrows into the lightbulbs and then I kinda shot the bottle of wine. It exploded," Joe confesses as he fiddles with the edge of the tablecloth like John does with his clothes. Consciously he folds his hands together in order to stop.

Brian and Roger share a loaded glance with one another. "What did you say afterwards, Joe, if anything?" Brian now inquires quietly, wiping one hand across his lips.

"I uh, said it was nice to have a captive audience. And I thanked 'em for their consideration before I walked out."

"Without being dismissed?"

"I kinda dismissed myself."

"Too RIGHT you did!" Roger crows after a moment of stunned silence. Ben is staring from Joe to him as the mentor bursts into raucous peals of laughter. "Oh, Joe, that's bloody stupendous! If I could have seen their FACES!"

"Roger," Brian expels a severe sigh.

"_What,_ Bri? We aren't advocating that Joe murder the bloody Gamemakers, for fuck's sake, but he certainly got their attention! When you made those shots what were their responses like, eh?"

"Well," Joe ponders a bit, feeling his heart finally truly slowing down. They aren't angry with him. Roger isn't, at least; Brian is worried in his gentle way, but perhaps this isn't the end of the world. "The guy who was about to pick up the bottle of wine looked at me like I took about ten years off his life. And one lady actually fell off her chair."

Both Ben and Roger are laughing now, and Brian manages to crack a smile though his forehead remains a bit wrinkled with worry. "...I suppose the Arena will already be hellish enough. Surely-- I certainly hope they don't punish you any more because of your demonstration, Joe."

"If they punish him for it they'll be hearing from me," Roger growls, eyes flashing with fury. "Step up an' shit on my tribute--I'll rip 'em all new arseholes if they try, see if I don't." Brian's face lowers at that, but along with his concern, fondness in response to Roger's vehement words crinkles the outer corners of his eyes and softens the planes of the stylist's lean cheeks.

Joe feels a warmth in his chest, and he has calmed enough to realise he is ravenous. He begins tucking into their meal and Ben automatically begins handing over platters and tureens for him to fill his plate with the contents. Joe immensely appreciates that act, and smiles at Ben as their hands touch in the midst of catching the weight of an enormous salad bowl. Joe's eyes widen as he puts his fingers over Ben's, and the blond shoots him a shy smile before lowering his soft-cheeked face. Joe doesn't want to relinquish Ben's hands, but the audio and video feed begins blaring in preparation to announce the tribute scores.

Roger lets out an excited whoop and the two drop the bowl they hold, Joe letting out a screech of his own. Brian smiles at the pair of them now trading bashful glances with one another, and the stylist feels a pang of longing as he recalls his dear mates. Remembered sorrows notwithstanding, he hears the voice of Mike Myers begin calling out the tributes' names and rankings. The first two, and the fourth, districts are full of nines, tens, elevens. Ranking goes from one to twelve--one being the worst, the weakest; and twelve best or most dangerous in the eyes of the Gamemakers. Painting a larger target on someone's back, or telling other people whom to watch out for.

Ben's head jerks up as Myers intones his name and adds "Eight!" Which they can apparently work with.

Ben leans forward, breath whooshing out. "So that's alright then?" he asks their mentor doubtfully.

"Yes, Ben. Hell yes!" Roger cries.

"You were given quite a good score, Ben," Brian assures him. "Very solid showing." Ben expels another breath and slumps into the couch with relief, as they had all moved away from the table to face the projection directly during about District Eight. Joe grins and gives Ben a thumbs-up that instantly morphs into him grabbing at Ben's hand.

"Joseph Mazzello, District Twelve," comes up and Myers' poofy hair trembles in the excitement of announcing: "Twelve! Our only twelve of the year for our volunteer!"

There are gasps and shouts; Roger leaps up and grabs onto Brian, yanking him upright as well, and Brian spins the shorter man around with the force of his shocked excitement. Joe lets out yet another startled screech and stares at Ben, whose bright ocean-hued eyes are enormous. "...Congratulations," he utters, voice cracking. They will all be after Joe now.

"I don't know about that," Joe responds as he too realises what Ben has. What does this mean to be known as the most lethal tribute in the Games? It isn't great. "It's a testament to these guys, for sure," he says of Roger and Brian. "But also, oh my god, Ben."

The blond tribute continues holding the other's hand. To reassure himself or Joe, he is not entirely sure.

Oh god indeed.

***

Brian helps Ben with his suit, a glimmering opalescent garment that shimmers white but somehow also holds thousands more hues within.

This is ridiculous. They are going to a gala the night before the Games now that they have their scores, and everyone is invited: Gamemakers, tributes, the elite of the Capitol. It's the tributes' last chance to procure sponsors before the big day, Roger says wearily as he sticks his head into Ben's room. "--So that's why I'm going. Got Joe into his suit, Bri. Figure you probably want to make adjustments, though I DO know what I'm about fashion-wise. Fred thought so at least." The blond man flops onto a chair and takes a drag on a cigarette. He never doesn't have one round. Rog lifts his hand in a gesture like a toast as Brian moves away from Ben after a final tug on the young man's tie and smoothing wrinkles from the shoulders and pointed lapels of the tribute's jacket. "Ben, looking good, lad."

The curly-haired major domo slash stylist cups a hand round Ben's shoulder and nods. "You do look rather wonderful, Ben."

The young man flushes. "Thank you," He says. "And cheers--this'll do to get sponsors, yeah?"

"That along with my effortless charm, of course," Roger cracks. Brian rolls his eyes as a knock sounds upon the door.

Joe's voice calls out "Hey, feel like I'm missing a party! Everybody decent in there?"

"Uh, yeah," Ben smooths his hair and situates his cufflinks. "Yeah, come in, Joe."

"Cool, I will." The door opens and all coherent thought exits Ben's head. He almost forgets to breathe. Joe is standing there in a slim-cut suit that accentuates his torso and shoulders. His pale skin is set off by the dark rich colour of its cloth--violet, indigo, black pearl... rich hues of all those colours shimmer and shift in the fabric and disappear, moving as he moves like some hypnotising darkly scaled creature. In direct juxtaposition, however, are the animated features of Joe; his soft-seeming thin pale hands, always moving, gesturing, waving; his nose, the strongest feature of his face, mouth always smiling, beaming, really; over all the littlest things that somehow seem to possess the power to make him happy. His dark hair looks so soft, and his eyes...

...Ben recalls those same eyes, crinkled just as they are now in kindness and appreciation and joy in that little dance studio when he was around five or so. He had been afraid, taken to the studio by his father, but refused to relinquish his dad's hand and said he wanted to go home. "What if nobody likes me? What if I'm bad at dancing?" Ben had whimpered, and he recalls this little guy with dark hair and a big smile. Should have known instantly when he saw that smile beside the podium after he had been Reaped. All those years ago Joe came over and welcomed him to Ginny and Joe's with so much pride, and said he loved to dance, asking if Ben did. Ben had hid in his father's shirt.

"He's scared," his father briskly said. "Doesn't know anyone here." Ben still recalls the shame he'd felt at that, burning white-hot. He's scared, he's fragile, he is quiet. His father would always say things like that and his mum would tell him to grow up and be a man. But Joe had smiled and introduced himself, said now Ben knew someone, and tugged him into the studio onto the dance floor. Danced with all the bold composure in the world. Ben cannot believe he did not instantly remember all that upon seeing Joe again; he felt a shock in response to Joe's smile, and now he knows why.

...And here Joe is again, standing in front of him, smiling. Finally Ben remembers how to breathe. "Ben," Joe is now speaking, a hand resting on Ben's arm. "Are you all right, my friend?"

Ben realises he must have looked like an idiot. He was probably pop-eyed, staring. Flushes now--he's always blushing, come on, get a grip on yourself, Ben--and dips his chin a bit. "Erm yeah, Joe. I'm good. You look--you look fantastic."

"Ya think?" Joe does a twirl, toes pointed, perfect form. "Thank you. Took a WHILE to get me lookin' presentable; I'm sure Brian only needed about five minutes with you." Joe's eyes travel over Ben in his suit and Ben's breath hitches. Does he look like he'd rushed? "You're totally camera-ready all the time, like a male model," Joe continues, looking over at Brian and Roger. "Are there any jobs like that open in the Capitol, because uh, I think Ben could totally launch a new line: Tribute Chique."

"Oh, stop." Ben is laughing now, his embarrassment gone; or at least mitigated by Joe's banter. Good ol' Joe. "You'd have to join me."

"Oh god no," Joe dramatically widens his eyes. "Me in anything but a suit, people would keel over from the hideousness. Ooh, but that could be our tagline! Fashion good enough to die for, and a tribute to die from." He winks.

"Oh my god," Ben is laughing harder now as Brian smiles at them both.

It is Roger who stands, hauls himself to his feet with a grunt, his open shirt and flowered jacket baring most of his chest and midriff as he snuffs out his cigarette and says "Well, tomorrow you might just be dying, so let's get a move on while we all still can, eh?" That causes the laughter to peter out, and the jokes grow cold and harsh and not funny at all as they leave their penthouse, heading down the hallway to the lift that will take them down and out of the tribute building to the site of the gala. 

Brian's eyes are reproachful, their hazel depths dark and scolding as he strides up next to the shorter man. Roger snarls "Leave me to my bloody business, Brian! Have YOU been in the Arena? No! I have! They need me to be fucking _honest_ about all this shit, alright?!"

"I under_stand_ that, Roger, but I don't think you should remind them EVERY SINGLE BLOODY SECOND about the possibility of imminent death. I have faith in our boys," he says with a warm glance back to the pair, and both Joe and Ben feel a warm burst of affection for Brian. His tone is utterly sincere, and his voice starts to tremble as he adds "...And I cannot bear the thought of either of them dying, so please, spare us--spare me your macabre knowledge tonight!" Roger freezes, eyes bulging at the venom in Brian's voice. He spits out those words with an amount of vitriol that the two tributes have never heard from him and are surprised by as well. Brian's body shakes and Roger reaches out to curl a hand round his arm. "I'm sorry, Rogie," Brian chokes out. "I know that our reasons are different, but I hate this with as much passion as you do. Why--" he looks around wildly as they get to the lift. "Why must they do it? These poor young beings are SLAUGHTERED for what? Amusement?!? It isn't RIGHT!"

"Ssh, Brian," Roger lunges for him, free hand covering the taller man's mouth as his other still grasps his friend's arm. "I get it, alright? But you can't fucking say that. I'm the irascible chain-smoking drunk, nobody listens to me, Bri. But you're from the bloody Capitol." 

Ben and Joe share a wide-eyed glance. Somehow they never seriously considered that Brian, sweet-eyed gentle-voiced decent-hearted Brian, had actually been raised up in this place of wealth and excess lacking in any real feelings. Because here he is feeling most of all. Maybe there truly is something to rebel for, Ben thinks as they enter the elevator and head down. If Brian feels so strongly and he is from this hellish place, perhaps there is reason to hope for change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, whew! I feel like a lot has happened in this chapter.
> 
> * Joe went off on the Gamemakers, bless him.  
* Ben's having some feelings and memories. He's also an insecure mess, poor dear!  
* And Roger and Brian are feeling things too (cue a lil more name dropping....)  
* Now the boys are on their way to the Tribute Gala! Woohoo!
> 
> Do let me know what you think; next chapter is the gala, and there are some meetings that are going to happen--some already hinted at, others new and hopefully exciting. Comments appreciated <3


	10. Hopes of the Young

As the four men walk up the drive of one of the enormous glitzy manor houses (that could be home to someone famous or important, yet looks as grand as every other building the two tributes from District Twelve have seen thus far) in the Capitol, both Ben and Joe, on the pathway to the front door, feel overwhelmed and very small. 

"Well, it's not the mayoral palace," Joe cracks under his breath. "...but it'll have to do, I guess." Ben snorts with laughter. Their hometown mayor is absurdly proud of his residence and power, though being the mayor of the farthest, poorest district affords him basically none of the latter--he just has a pretty house.

"He'd shit a brick if he saw these furnishings," Ben mutters back as they are ushered inside. "Take a look and swear that it was gold."

Joe chokes on laughter. "Benny, oh my god that's beautiful. I always knew ya had a sense of humour inside somewhere." He reaches down and takes Ben's hand, tightening his grip on the other man's fingers. Ben freezes, figuring Joe is teasing him, and looks sharply at the other. Joe automatically moves to release his hold. If that was too much... but Ben recognises the sincerity of the gesture now, and flips his palm over, pressing it to Joe's and interlocking their fingers. 

Their hands remain linked together as they enter the gigantic house. Into a cacophony of sound: clink and clatter and raucous laughter; all these glamorous people with their sparkling outfits and bright hair and various additions without a care in the world. Likely they are betting upon the tributes they're seeing, already putting money upon whom will die first tomorrow. Ben grips Joe's hand tighter before letting go as he--they both--begin catching glances from and sights of other tributes, facial expressions set into the same configurations as theirs', bearing smiles and dealing with whispers and stares. Some tributes they see are staring blankly; only the Careers--the tributes from the first two districts, who go to special academies in order to train specifically for the prospect of being Reaped--seem to be legitimately enjoying themselves.

"I need a drink," Ben utters. Roger has already disappeared, likely for a similar reason; Brian gives a smile to both tributes, assuring them they can leave whenever they like, just come and find him. Joe beams at the stylist and then at the buffet table, promising to meet Ben back on the dance floor later.

"Well, I know I'll be dancing whether you do or not," Mazzello says, and Ben wants so badly to tell him _Joe, the last time I danced it was with you, and I'd love to again, but..._ but he's a bloody coward, yet again, and watches Joe go into the crowd to reach the table piled high with foodstuffs, all sorts. Ben sighs and runs fingers through his hair before proceeding in the opposite direction towards the drink table.

Joe moves past people, smiling and nodding and dancing a little too--come on, there's a beat in the air, music blasting above the chatter--to reach the buffet line. He gets excited upon viewing various sorts of meat. There would be a celebration day called in District Twelve if even the contents of one of these Capitol tables were to be handed out back home. Duck, turkey, chicken, quail... even a dove has been cooked here; a pair of them rest in the shape of a heart upon a plate. Joe shudders at that particular sight. "That's actually kinda gross," he intones aloud.

"Certainly creepy," a soft rich voice vocalises agreement from somewhere nearby. Joe peers around but cannot pick out who was talking; no one instantly appears close enough to have heard him or is looking in his direction. Several of the stylist assistants are gulping glasses of some fizzy purple concoction and cackling among themselves. 

Joe shrugs and begins to pile a different variety of food upon his plate. "...Wonder if this is a metaphor for the Capitol killing love?" he mutters to himself slyly. "Or peace at the very least. Heh."

An exclamation of what sounds like amusement echoing his own emanates from behind Joe, and he realises it came from the other side of a curtain covering a window. The same voice croons "_Can anybody find me somebody to love?_" and a familiar dark-haired grey eyed face pokes halfway around the edge of the curtain. It is the tribute from District Eleven that had given Joe his arrows. Joe smiles; he recognises both the man and the song.

"_Each mornin' I get up I die a little, can barely stand on my feet...,_" He responds, taking his full plate and going over to the curtain.

"Apropos, isn't it?" The other inquires softly before making a shy movement to stand and step slightly towards Joe as well. His outfit is not all that flashy, which might be another reason Joe hadn't immediately noticed his presence. He wears a dark-checked sweater and simple tan slacks. Excellent material that could sell for a pretty penny back in one of their districts. "It's impressive you know that song," he says. "We--sing in the orchards of my district when we're climbing trees. To communicate with each other and help pass the time. No one else really does though. I'm Rami," he adds, putting out a hand to shake as he introduces himself. "Rami Malek."

"Joe Mazzello," Joe shakes the offered hand with a smile. "Pleasure, Rami. That's awesome you guys sing. My parents, well, my mom--" he chokes on the change, even now it is hard recalling that his father is gone. But he continues "--she owns a dance studio. Which is a weird occupation in a district full'a coal miners, haha. Hard to explain that one." Rami laughs. "But anyway, we're playing music all the time, so I know songs like that one. Don't even remember who sings it. Bet nobody knows."

"Because music is between hair ribbons and rainbows in terms of usefulness," Rami quips drily. "I love it, but. I do wonder what people know and don't know here." He lowers his voice even further and shifts a bit closer to Joe. "But here they don't seem to have much use doing anything except, um...promoting the violent deaths of citizens. Happy Hunger Games!"

Joe guffaws. This guy has his dark sense of humour, awesome. He's got to introduce him to Ben. "And may the odds be EVER in your favour." Shooting another smile, Joe offers his plate to the tribute and says "Rami, you're great. What's a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?" He asks with lighthearted irony.

Rami smiles as he takes a piece of fruit with a soft "Thank you," to Joe. "Well my friend Allen and I got Reaped together," he says, biting into a brightly coloured berry and instantly blotting juice off his chin. Joe whips out the handkerchief he'd gotten as part of his suit--good old Brian--and offers it to the other man as well. "...Our district decided it was 'too dangerous' to keep reaping women, I suppose."

"Dangerous to unborn millions?" Joe asks with his mouth full. He smacks his lips and swallows. "Sorry, uh- that's just how my district described it. Politics to keep up the Games but also somehow save us, right?"

Rami sucks in his cheeks and raises his eyebrows. "Oh yes, it's saving people, certainly." The tone of voice he uses makes Joe bust a gut again. He feels actually, legitimately happy as they continue sharing food and talking. Sounds strange to say or think, but the night is looking up.

***

Ben is barely making it through the evening.

He doesn't like crowds at the best of times, and this is definitely one of the worst, as the majority of people here are either plotting creative ways to kill him--he'd seen a couple of Gamemakers in one corner already-- betting on how quickly he will die, as elite members of the Capitol do, the vultures; or maybe they want to help out, for a price. Sponsors. He catches sight of Roger Taylor, blond hair shining, drink in hand, charming smile in full force as he moves among clusters of people. Ben watches him wearing that mask, and then he catches Roger's eyes as the mentor moves away from a group to see their blue depths dull and flat, and the sight makes Ben's stomach lurch and exhorts him to get a drink to keep himself from being sick.

He rushes back to the drink table and gulps down the first drink he finds. He already had one before trying to melt unobtrusively into the wall, but now he stands at the table and gasps at the burn of alcohol. Ben's eyes blur and water as he hears a low chuckle next to him.

"That's certainly one way to go if you're on your way to drown all your sorrows, mate." A voice accented somewhat akin to his speaks up, and blinking away tears that come up in response to the strength of his drink, Ben catches sight of a tall man with dark hair and bright blue eyes standing beside him in a deep purple suit. He looks familiar; another tribute. "Gwil Lee," he introduces himself with a now-extended hand. "Gwilym. District Four."

Ben takes the proffered hand hesitantly. "Er-- pleasure," his low voice exits his throat roughly as he relinquishes Gwil's hand. He's got quite a grip. "Ben," Ben says back. "Twelve. You're from the fishing district, right?"

"More like the weaving fish nets and trying not to drown district, but yeah," The tall man's features split in a friendly smile. "And you're a coal miner."

"Yeah," Ben replies. "Well actually, no. Not personally, er, but we've got coal miners. I- I bake." Embarrassed by his profession's certainly frivolous implications, he blushes. 

But Gwil only nods, eyes bright. He honestly seems interested, what in the world. "Really? That's cool. Me mam likes baking pies when she's not doctoring. Tried to teach my siblings and me how too, but I for one am rubbish." He laughs, spreading long hands to indicate his form. "This is not the composition of a pastry chef, let me tell you."

Ben smiles. He can't help it. "...I'm not much for pies either," he admits. "I mostly bake and frost cakes, muffins, stuff like that. Used to do the bread, but. Wasn't that good." He recalls blackened loaves and a wearied pale face and a box on the ear.... Shaking himself free from memories, Ben again attempts a smile, or at the very least to relax his face. Gwilym is nodding again, appearing sympathetic to Ben's poor bread-baking plight. Ben is suspicious, cannot help it. Look where they are, for cripes' sake. Licking his lips he softly adds "Hang on, isn't this frowned upon?" Flicking his finger between the two of them "Us chatting?"

Gwil shrugs easily. "Eh, I figured since they told us not to kill each other before we reach the Arena, that I might as well attempt to make a few friends."

Ben snorts. That is ludicrous; it'll only make things more difficult once the time comes, but the sentiment sounds just like... "Ben!" Joe's excitable voice screeches as his dark head bobs into view, leading another darker head through the crowd behind him. "--This couldn't wait for the dance floor. Scuse me," he says to Gwil, beaming at Ben as the tall tribute shifts obediently out of the way. "Benny, I made a friend. This is Rami Malek. Rami, may I present Ben Jones, awesomely strong man and cake-baker extraordinaire. Seriously, he can make frosting that looks just like a tree." Joe waggles his eyebrows. "The sexiest tree."

Ben blushes, yet again. "Hi," says Rami in a soft warm voice. His gaze is deep and gentle, eyes large and striking, blue-grey. Ben feels as though this man is staring into his very soul, and he is not entirely certain how he feels about it. "It's nice to meet you."

"He's from District Eleven, so we're basically next-door neighbors!" Joe bounces happily. "He and his buddy Allen both got picked, since they changed the rules there too. Too many mothers lost or something. But they sing up in the trees with mockingjays, isn't that amazing?"

"--We're different," Rami's voice remains musical, but has a slight edge to it. A sharpness. "And expendable; I've got a twin brother, however, so that might give my mom solace if I don't return." He sucks his lips against his teeth and adds "...I'm sorry," voice low. "that isn't something--you all needed, or wanted, to hear I'm sure."

The other three glance at each other and they all understand. "It's fine," Gwilym speaks up with a nod as he shakes Rami's hand and introduces himself, enveloping the shorter man's hand with a clearly gentle grasp. "Gotta get through this as we can, right? I'm Gwil."

"Yeah, we get it," Ben intones quietly, turns about and takes up another glass off the table, which he offers to Rami. "Drink?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, the lads have all met! I hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> *"_Can anybody find me somebody to love?_" = The reason for my Crack tag stems mostly from my use of Queen music as the old ballads that Katniss knows and sings. Queen could exist here somehow I'm sure; a group begun in Bri and Roger's younger days, halted for rebellious sentiments... however you want to interpret the reasoning behind their music being a part of this universe, that is a-okay. There is a reason I have it here (besides being an excellent bonding tool for Joe and Rami, haha)
> 
> *"... when she's not doctoring" = Gwil's family is full of medical professionals in our world, so I wanted to give them some doctoring skills in this one too :)
> 
> Next chapter will include more of this gala and some dark backstory, oh dear.... 
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	11. Taking the Lost and the Unloved Babe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of making friends and hearing past sorrows
> 
> WARNING for intense descriptions of grief in response to death and gore. Traumatic backstory below.

The group of tributes end up sticking together for the rest of the night; Rami's friend Allen comes over as well, though he remains standoffish and aloof towards them--suspicious, for certain, as he hovers just behind Rami or stands at his side. Nobody blames him, really. 

Gwil's fellow tribute from his district joins them also. Her name is Lucy. "It's so nice to meet you," she says to them all, seeming genuinely happy to do so, just as Gwil was. "I'm happy to be here so I can watch out for Gwilym, but seems he has ingratiated himself to you boys now as well." Eyes bright, the petite blonde leans into the side of her tall dark companion, and he puts an arm around her in a hug. She smiles fondly up at him. Rami swallows hard at this sight. He can't seem to take his eyes off Lucy, which Joe notices and finds incredibly sweet.

"Eh, he's alright," Ben says with a nudge to Gwil's ribs. The taller man grins. Both have discovered several shared interests; one of them being an enjoyment of teasing Joe, who gasps in faux-offence every single time.

"We might hafta ally ourselves together," Joe puts in. "MAYBE, okay--I don't want to jump into anything too fast, y'know. We only just met."

Gwilym waggles his eyebrows and smiles. "Aw come on, Joe--don't you believe in love at first sight, mate?"

Ben catches Joe's laughing glance as "Yes," he says, voice serious. Ben's heart stops. "-That's the way it was for my parents," Mazzello continues easily, and Ben's heart begins beating again, starting back up with a painful little thump. "They met when my dad was nine years old and he told me during his first dance class he saw my mom and said he was going to marry her someday." There are sighs of appreciation and gasps of surprise as well. "He never lost that same amount of feeling, doted on my mom. Brought her flowers every chance he could on his way home from the mines." Joe smiles thinking of his parents but his eyes hold immense pain as well; the agony of his father no longer being here, but also the probability of him going soon. If he only had more time....

He blinks as "Oh how lovely that is! I would be so happy to get flowers," Lucy says.

"I would bring you flowers," Rami tells her.

Lucy's eyes light up and on impulse she presses his hand. "Oh thank you. That's very sweet, Rami."

"I mean it," he tells her. "I'd take the bullet train to your district and everything. I've never seen the ocean before," he adds.

"Oh, it's quite beautiful. Some days it's the same lovely colour as your eyes."

"Whoah," Gwil whispers. Ben whistles.

"Smooth moves," Joe grins as Rami looks bashful and Lucy blushes. "Now if it was me, I'd wanna give the person I love a lot more than flowers." He beams wickedly as Gwil playfully shoves his arm.

"...Well then Lucy is lucky she's got someone classy to bring her flowers," Ben mutters.

"Ouch!" Joe cries as Gwilym laughs and instantly offers Ben a high-five. "I'm so hurt, I can't believe you'd say that, Ben. You know me."

"Not as well as I could, Joe," Ben replies. He wants to add: _definitely not as well as I'd like;_ but cannot manage to force that sentiment past his lips. No one is really listening anyhow, Gwil is laughingly placating a dramatically sniffling Joe and Lucy and Rami are chatting to each other now, lost in their own little world. Ben envies that even as he wonders what will happen when they all meet up again in the Arena. Can any sparks of friendship last? He swallows hard and looks away from the group, catching sight of one of the Career girls who is standing across the room. She looks him up and down, licking her lips. Knife girl. Ben does his best to nod to her. He glances over at Joe--bright, buoyant, laughing Joe who'd be as good with a spear as he is with a bow, and he's as good a shot with that as anyone Ben has ever seen or heard of. He will be all right unless he gets cornered, but he's too fast for that. Ben is strong, he knows that; and fast in short bursts. But he needs protection, and he admits that Gwil's personality, even his self-deprecation about his own skills (though Ben recalls how prolific they are, hears the thud of a head falling as Gwilym pierced it with a spear in training) does not fill the blond with enough confidence to ask if they truly might be allies. He's got to do something, though.

So gulping the rest of his current drink, Ben wipes his lips and goes over towards the Career girl.

Joe doesn't see Ben leave; he assumes his fellow tribute went to get food, or perhaps to take a leak. He tries not to worry as Ben remains unseen, doesn't come back over; even exhorts the others to come and dance with him. He gets a hold of Lucy and discovers that she is quite a good dancer before a deep voice asks "May I cut in?" and a craggy face stares at Joe. "Tom Hollander. Head Gamemaker."

"Oh, Joe. Mazzello," Joe lets out a bit of a squeak, only a bit. Lucy curtsies and Hollander bows gallantly to her before an arm is offered by Rami, and she takes it. Gwil too stands by, and the knot of tributes glances at Joe in some confusion and concern for him, though they do move away as Hollander gestures to one side of the dance floor where another drinking station, this one a bar, stands. Joe swallows and looks to the Gamemaker, certain he is going to be chastised for his scoring performance. His heart drops as he wonders what the older man will say.

"Making new friends, are we?" The Gamemaker's voice is heavy and deadpan, making Joe unsure whether he is being criticized or asked an honest question.

So he tosses off "Yeah, I made it a rule when I was a little guy to make at least one new friend everywhere I go." Joe tries to smile. "Maybe you can be my fourth tonight, Mister Hollander."

"...That isn't really the point of being here, is it?" The craggy man asks, his eyebrows going up.

"Well, heh. No, I guess not," Joe says, rubbing a hand over his hair before trying to pat it down. "But this is a dark world, and every bit of light is precious." He smiles a secret little smile to himself as he intones those particular words.

"Just so," Hollander returns quietly, tone seeming fierce. There is an expression on his face that Joe cannot figure out. And then he adds "...Appalling how dark it is. And these Games make it even darker." He pauses before staring hard at Joe. "If only we could find another way, or perhaps create one."

It is Joe's turn to raise his eyebrows. "That--seems like a... very un-Gamemaker thing to say, sir," he speaks carefully.

"May be," Hollander draws himself up. "But does not make it any less true, or necessary." Stepping back from Joe with a bow as the loud song that had been playing over their conversation ends, he adds "It has been a pleasure speaking with you. When you are in the Arena, look to the skies, Joe." With that oddly significant-sounding phrase, he smiles slightly and disappears into the crowded darkness. Suddenly Joe really wants to locate Ben and head back. Or failing that, return to the penthouse on his own. He feels absolutely exhausted all of a sudden. Everything is crashing in, double meanings, secrets, thoughts of the Games....

Joe's new friends locate and come back up to him. He makes his excuses and says his goodbyes, which appear to be accepted for the most part--Allen still stands there like some suspicious shadow, but Gwil grips Joe's shoulder and Lucy kisses his cheek, wishing him luck. Rami stares with his warm eyes seeming to look straight through Joe and see everything about him and says, reaching out and clutching the other's hands, "If we never see each other again, know that I wish you every possible happiness, Joe Mazzello." He sucks in his cheeks and his voice catches as if he is going to cry.

"Ah, Rami. You too, buddy, of course." Joe smiles, squeezing Rami's fingers. "I wish that for you, for you all." It is a ridiculous wish, really--useless hope. They know where they are going in the morning, and all--or all but one--will soon be dead. But they can fight that darkness til the very last possible second. Joe believes that, as he said to Ben: fight for light until that cannon blows. He has got to.

They all must.

***

Joe does return to the tribute hotel alone; or rather, with Brian. Roger said he was staying out to get in good with a few more sponsors. He promises to keep an eye out for Ben. "Wouldn't worry about him, though," the mentor tosses out. "He's a smart lad. It's just his last night on Earth, so to speak, innit?" With a tipsy wave and an expansive grin, the blond slurs a bit. "Gotta make th' most, and can't say I blame 'im. Cheers!" Roger calls.

"Cheers," Joe murmurs back to him automatically.

"Be careful, Rog," are Brian's parting words.

"Yeah, yeah."

They head back from the manse to the Tribute hotel and into the elevator. As it ascends towards their floor, Joe peers sideways at Brian, whose lean face is bent forward, long curls obscuring most of it as he leans his arms back, hands braced upon the shiny wall. He thinks upon what the stylist said earlier, how truly desperate he sounded in his cries at the inhumanity of the Hunger Games. And though Roger has said multiple times that Brian never personally went through them, there remains history and pain. Joe can feel it. He wants to learn in order to know all that he can about these kind and brave men who have helped him and Ben. So, "Brian?" Joe queries.

The dark head tips and turns towards him, hazel eyes widening. "Yes, Joe?"

"Uhh, I don't really know how to ask this, and feel free not to answer if you don't want to, but. Why do you-- what made you hate the Hunger Games so much? I mean, besides the fact that they're pretty terrible in themselves," he huffs out a slightly sardonic chuckle as he looks at Brian. "No ball-throwing, no fouls, no good consistent rules," Joe tosses off the addition to be careful. Always careful. The walls have ears. "It just seems--I don't know, more personal for you I guess."

Brian nods, his lips pressing flatly together as the elevator stops on their floor. "I... you're right, it is personal for me, Joe. And I can tell you." They get into the common room and Brian turns audio on, soft music so they won't be easily overheard. Here in the Capitol, the walls have ears. "I had a friend years ago. His name was Freddie. He was...," Brian's voice grows soft with affection, eyes widening and brightening with what appears to be awe. "He was amazing. A glorious, glowing person. He was a stylist like myself. Well he was far better at this than I. The real thing. So artistic. He adored fashion and art." Brian walks with Joe to the sofa, ushering the younger man to sit first and make himself comfortable with a smile and a nod. Joe sits and listens closely as Brian continues, sitting down as well. "He was so kind, the gentlest and most generous person I have ever known. And the naughtiest," The stylist laughs. "I actually think the two of you would get on." Joe grins. "Fred loved everyone and wanted, yearned for someone to love him." Brian chokes a bit after those words. His eyes appear broken. "And oh, I did. We... went to the Academy together, those from the Capitol with children from Districts One and Two. You've heard of these?" Brian asks. "Schools where children are taught how to be tributes? Disgusting. Anyhow, Fred went through the academy and so did I. But he--he also was sent into the Games twenty-odd years ago. Along with another mate of ours, John Deacon. A gentle quiet boy from District Two that we met in school. He was a genius with electrical things. Engineering and the like. Knew everything about machines. Quite interesting to me how he got on that, being from a luxury district and all. But he went on trips to the power district just to learn more." Brian's features soften as he talks of John, remembering him too. His face trembles. "He and Freddie connected right away. They had this quiet understanding. John adored Freddie, and Fred said John was the little brother he never had. They meant everything to each other. And then--" Brian's entire body is trembling now as he utters "--they both went into the Games and worked together as allies, but John was killed. Freddie couldn't save him, and he --went berserk. Went slightly mad, I think." More than slightly mad. Brian recalls Freddie's features on the screen, ashen as he took down everyone, lithe body and face carmine-bright with blood. "He looked like he was wearing a harlequin suit, his armour was white but it got blotted red with blood. He won, but that--he never really got out of the Arena." Brian shuts his eyes and taps his fingers frantically upon the table, and a glass of water that Joe gets and fills for him. "Thank you, Joe." Brian sips water and wipes his face with a trembling hand. "After that-"

"Brian, you can stop." Joe's hazel eyes are huge and pained. He reaches out and presses Brian's shaky hand. "This is awful, I can tell how much it's hurting you, man. You don't have to say any more, I'm sorry--"

"No, Joe, I want to," Brian speaks gravely, his opposite hand covering Joe's as he looks into the young man's empathetic eyes. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm... I'm fine." His lip trembles, belying those words, but nevertheless the stylist continues. "I need to say this." He hasn't done so before; never verbalised anything that had happened. He needs to get it out.

So Joe nods and sits and listens as Brian tells how Freddie met Rog when they both were Victors, or rather got to know him better then, having just barely been acquainted beforehand; Roger had been in the Games before Freddie had - and they instantly got on. "Freddie started smiling again. He wasn't the same man, however, of course not; he still missed John, still wanted to know why he was gone. What made this all happen, what started the Games. He began to research the history of this country, the origins of the Games. Got all pale and thin, focusing so hard, running himself down. And one night--" Brian begins to choke up in earnest now, his shoulders shake violently. "He told me and Rog to come, that he'd found something. We were all mates at this point, working together. 'Come meet me at the Hanging Tree, darlings,' Fred said. We thought he was being typical dramatic Freddie, but Roger went. I was ready to follow behind, but." Brian hears the roaring of tires then, the trucks, the screeching mockingjays. "--They said it was an accident," Brian now whispers, head bowed, hands clasped together. "A tragic accident. Rogie was outside, on his way to Fred when the trucks came and said the victor Freddie Mercury had fallen." Brian whimpers. "There was nothing they could do, it was--"

"So tragic," A new voice intones, high husk laced with acerbity. "A klutzy fucking move, Freddie slipped and hit his head." Roger's eyes flash like two chips of ice as he comes round the couch and stares at Joe. Neither had heard him come in. "But dearest Freddie was the most coordinated, careful person I knew. He moved like a bloody cat, always landed on his feet. But _I'm_ a raving drunk and I didn't see his body, so what do I really know about what happened that night? Nothing!" The short blond throws himself onto the couch cushions beside Brian with a dead-eyed stare. "Fucking nothing."

Joe presses his hands to his mouth as he swallows, eyes filled with agony and tears that do not fall as he watches Brian sob and look at Roger, who turns to him with an exhale and opening arms. The tall man buries his face in his friend's neck, and Roger holds Brian tight, jaw clenched, breaths coming hard. He closes his eyes and rubs one hand up and down Brian's shuddering back, the other clutching his thick black curls as Brian links his fingers around Roger's torso and cries, clutching him as though for dear life. Joe wishes he knew of something to do better than just sitting and watching them both cry, but he can think of nothing to say, after Brian has wiped his eyes and leaned back, Roger clapping him on the shoulders. Nothing but, "I'm so sorry." Sorry for asking, sorry for knowing; sorry to be here, to continue this horrible, heinous tradition; there isn't a choice. Why isn't there a choice?!

Brian does his best to smile at Joe. "You're alright," he says, and the warmth and genuine gentleness with which he speaks breaks Joe's heart. "You and Ben are two people I definitely am rooting for, and betting on."

Ben. Where IS Ben? Roger looks up and tosses off "Ah, I saw Ben chatting up someone from-- John's district. Two. One'a the Careers. Said he would be back, but not to wait up." Stretching himself out, the mentor rises. "And I'm off, so good night." He pats Brian's shoulder and adds "And don't stay up ALL ruddy night, Joe. Prep yourself for tomorrow, and the--"

"Probability of my imminent demise," Joe finishes. Though his heart lurches as he realises exactly why Brian must hate that.

Roger winks. "Atta boy." At a sigh from Brian, he amends "Do TRY to stay alive, though, yeah? I know Bri here would hate to lose you." _I would too_ remains unspoken, but he shoots a warm smile at Joe, all bright teeth and sparkling eyes, before departing the room.

"G' night Rog," Brian calls after his best friend's retreating back.

"Sweet dreams, Bri," Roger returns.

"Little chance of that, I'm afraid," Brian speaks softly with a gentle glance at Joe. "Can I do anything for you before I go?"

Joe's heart swells. This man might be the kindest person he has ever met or seen--he wants only to help people, to help Joe, after everything he has been through. "I'm fine, Brian, but thank you so much." The tall man smiles as he stands up, and Joe doesn't know what possesses him to do so but he stands as well and blurts out "Brian, wait."

The other turns around as he'd been about to exit the room, eyes crinkling as his brows slightly lift, and Joe throws himself into the stylist's chest, pressing his face against Bri's shirt and skin. He feels Brian's breath and hears his heart beat and the older man wraps both arms around him, pressing his lips to Joe's hair and hanging on. His lengthy fingers grip Mazzello tight and for the moment Joe feels safe, sheltered, loved. Almost like he had when his father would give him a hug.

But he has to let go, and he does. Has to get some sleep so as to be as ready as he can be for tomorrow's descent into the Arena. Yeah. It is nearly impossible for Joe to look at the other man and keep his voice light as he utters "Good night, Brian." 

"Sleep well, Joe."

***

After Ben returns to the penthouse and takes a shower, he slides under the slick silky sheets of his enormous Capitol bed which is absurdly soft and comfortable. Too comfortable for him to fall asleep. 

Ben tosses and turns, flinging himself back and forth as he thinks of the Career girl's eyes and lips and hands, how she had told him there was a way that he could go far in the Games--and then he thinks about Joe. He finds himself always thinking about Joe, after the admission he made to mad Mike Myers on air. He recalls Joe's wide shocked eyes after he walked back down, but he hadn't said anything. Boisterous, talkative Joseph Mazzello hadn't said anything. Not after the interview, and he wished Ben luck out of kindness for sure. He'd taken Ben's hand in excitement, and then tonight it was from being overwhelmed. Sure, he kids Ben, but come on. Even if Ben hadn't basically betrayed him tonight by talking to the Careers, though he'd done it for his own personal survival, he is kidding himself. How could Joe have feelings for him? No; Ben has only ever had himself, and that is how things are always going to be. He has always been alone. Staying alive in the Games is important to Ben, but not nearly as important as staying true to himself. He has to make his own choices.

Contemplating all of this he stands up, shoving the blankets off his body and padding out to the main room. He goes over to the window that looks out across the city; trying to pretend the flashing lights are stars, far away from him and he from them--removed from struggle and pain. Settling down and leaning his back against the jutting wall beside said window, Ben draws his knees against his bare chest and rests his chin upon them. What is he going to do? He doesn't know. Especially since he is sure Joe has what it takes to win, not him. 

And as if thoughts had conjured him, the exuberant tones of Joe now greet him softly: "Hey Ben." 

"Hey," Ben turns, light catching half of his face and shining on his bare shoulder and chest. Joe swallows, noticing the definition of Ben's muscles in contrast to the round softness of his cheeks and his young looking facial features, enormous eyes and large lips pursed perfectly. His eyes darken even as his shoulders appear to relax when Joe comes up beside him.

"Can't sleep, huh?" Joe passes, leaning on the wall facing Ben and forcing himself not to touch the other man's skin. Warmth seems to waft off Ben, though that is probably his imagination.

Running fingers through his blond locks, pushing at the rumpled spikes with a heavy sigh "No, of course not," Ben returns.

"Doesn't help how late the parties go here," Joe smiles.

Ben clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably, wondering if Joe is insinuating something about how long he was out and who he was with. But the crinkles around the pale skin of Joe's eyes exude cheerful kindness and naught else. "Yeah, and look at 'em, still going."

"Rooting for us to lose our lives, whoo!" Joe whisper-shouts sarcastically.

Ben snorts. "I just... don't want them to change me, y'know?" he speaks softly.

"How would they change ya? Besides making you dye your hair or get lion teeth or something," Joe teases.

Ben rolls his eyes. "Yeah, alright, Joe. I totally should've gone out tonight and gotten some lion fang implants." He grows serious, voice rough. "Just--I don't want to become someone that I'm not in the Arena. I've already got... just myself. I don't want to lose that." Rolling his lips and ducking his head, Ben feels his voice wobble. "I can't."

There is silence wherein Ben squeezes his eyes shut, and then a shifting sound precedes the feeling of an arm wrapping around his shoulders. Ben peeks up to see Joe looking at him steadily as he shifted to sit beside Ben. He wraps his other arm around the blond and with a soft look Joe says "Well, I don't wanna over state this, even though I'm pretty awesome," he grins before going serious again "But I'll do what I can to help you out, Ben. If you want that, I mean." He moves to relinquish his hold on Ben's shoulders, but Ben reaches up and grasps Joe's upper arm, holding onto him.

"That's-- a lovely gesture," the blond whispers. "Thank you, Joe."

"Of course," Joe replies. He leans his head against Ben's, seemingly shaking a little. Ben shifts himself to nuzzle his cheek against Joe's neck and shoulder in an attempt to comfort him and feels Joe yawn, his jaw cracking. 

He starts chuckling in response, even as he still feels terrible for what he will be doing.... "Come on, mate. Let's get back to bed. Uh." Ben has started to stand and help Joe up, but freezes at the words he used. Joe doesn't seem to mind, however. He smiles up at Ben as the other pulls him to his feet. They head into their respective rooms, glancing back at one another. "See you tomorrow, Joe," Ben whispers.

Joe waves and nods. "Night Benny. See ya tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *So the boys and Lucy are friends, and Rami totally has a lil crush, oooh 
> 
> *The information about Joe's dad meeting his mother at the age of nine comes from a comment I saw underneath one of Joe's Instagram posts.
> 
> *What do you guys think of Tom Hollander? I have some thoughts about him and who he's (kinda) representative of.
> 
> *I'm so sorry Rog and Brian, I wish I hadn't done that to you! Or to poor sweet John and Freddie... But the backstory popped up fully-formed in my brain and so I knew it had to be used :'( At least there were hugs and bonding, that makes up for all the griefs right? Right? :0 (Probably not and I am so sorry) screw the Capitol, damn
> 
> It's about to get nuts though, Ben and Joe are going into the Games! *cries*
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	12. The Earth Will Shake, In Two Will Break

Roger stands with Ben in the ready room, out of which he will step onto the lift that raises him into the Arena. Brian is along the line with Joe.

Breakfast that morning had been a nearly silent affair; neither tribute was inclined to eat until Roger growled they'd need to keep up their strength; "--at least have enough sustenance to get a good start so as not to die too fast," he said. Brian had let out a sharp cry then, dropping a plate and shuddering all over, instantly trying to apologise. They had all rushed to reassure the stylist, and Roger is applying his particular brand of reassurance upon Ben now.

"Just try not to die immediately, alright?" The mentor snaps, both hands gripping Ben's shoulders. "There will be a lot of things in the centre of this thing--weapons, food, supplies. Don't fucking go for any of it unless you see something at the edge you can grab and shove someplace painful. It's a bloodbath, alright? They'll be wanting to draw you in, so get your arse outta there. Got it?" Ben nods, feeling sick. He should have eaten more, or less, breakfast. 

"...Got it."

"Get the lay of the land, look for water and high ground. I'll see if I can't get any medical supplies sent in, but that's bloody difficult to do, so don't fucking hurt yourself, okay?"

A wry grin splits Ben's face. "Think I'll have a bit more trouble with other people trying to hurt me," he cracks. 

Roger's eyes go wide and then he chuckles. "Getting that gallows humour I've been talking about an' working to instill. Good lad!" He pats Ben upon the shoulder as a countdown begins, shifting closer as something flashes in his light eyes. Ben sucks in a hissing breath and stiffens in response to Roger's expression as well as the count. "Okay, get in there." Roger clasps Ben's shoulders one last time and tries to relax his face to reassure the young man before relinquishing him, and Ben moves on shaky legs into the tiny propulsion lift that will take him into the Arena. 

He tries very hard to exhale and not vomit on his shoes. "Oh, one more thing," Roger calls as a cylinder of glass closes Ben in "--don't step off your starting point til ya hear the whistle blow. There are mines planted all around to blow any false starters sky-high. Sick bastards," Roger mutters before giving Ben a thumbs up, trying to smile though his eyes are pained. "Keep your head up, take care, and you'll do alright. Luck!" His high voice cracks as Ben's lift begins going up, and the tribute's heart stutters as he sees first pitch darkness and then light. 

White, searing light. Ben blinks his eyes and waits for the light to clear, or dim if it will, and finds himself no longer enclosed. He stands upon a raised platform on a grassy field. To his left and right, behind a ring of other platforms on which tributes stand, is a forest. Trees extend up a hill. Good, high ground. He sees water as well; what could be a river or lake in front of him, but closer than that is an enormous horn-like shape, seemingly made of metal and as large as a house. Tons of weapons and packs are clustered at and around the mouth of it.

Ben twists his head to spot Joe on a platform a quarter kilometre away, and there is Rami and the other tribute from Eleven. Allen. Gwil and Lucy are nowhere to be seen; they must be across the clearing beyond the horn. Closer to the Careers. 

Beeps are counting down to start the Games. Ben glances one more time at Joe, who has lowered himself into a running stance as though preparing to run for the Horn. Ben catches his eyes and mouths 'no!' as an explosion splits the air before the starting bell rings. 

Grass and dirt and burnt limbs are flying in a bloody mist; someone had stepped off their platform too soon. Ben hits the dirt and loses sight of Joe as he rolls and gets close enough to the Horn of Plenty to grab onto a spear. Shouts and screams are filling the air as the Hunger Games begin.

***

Joe is gone. 

He had booked; been told by Brian to grab what he could "If there's anything at the edge of the clearing, but go, get out of there. Cut your losses and be careful," the stylist said. Begged, rather. Thinking on Brian's words to him the night before about John and Freddie, Joe had listened intently and grasped Brian's hands in his.

Joe grabs a backpack and lifts it as another tribute chucks a knife at his head. He shrieks as the blade sinks into the pack and then he is running flat-out into the woods. Crashes into someone full-bore, stares into a pair of petrified eyes before scrambling to his feet and running again. He screeches with pent-up emotions before going silent as the grave, no bad word choice, Joe--oh sugar honey ice tea! He runs and runs til he can't go farther and sinks into thick underbrush next to an enormous tree. Opens the bag he'd grabbed and takes stock. He finds:

First, about forty feet of rope, sturdy and thick  
Second, a metallic water bottle (empty, but oh well, yay canteen!)  
Third, a water-resistant and cold-resistant blanket slash sleeping bag  
Fourth, flint for fires he isn't going to make  
And finally, the knife he'd gotten chucked at his head. 

As Joe repacks his bag he hears the boom of thunder from the clear sky, and sees a flash of lightning strike down near the starting point, the Horn. He hears terrified, agonized screams and seconds later the different BOOM of cannons. Seven occur in succession, and Joe's heart lurches as he thinks about the bloodbath. 

He really hopes Ben is safe as he keeps moving, using his knife and some small sticks to create a falling snare, good food trap which is proven (luckily before sundown so Joe can make a tiny fire. "Sorry Roger, but I sadly cannot eat raw meat. I'm not that hardcore. Bet you were when you were in the arena though. You're not hardcore unless you live hardcore.") 

Sated and making sure he puts out his fire, scattering the remains, Joe scans the forest around him and walks on to find an acceptable resting place for the night. It turns out to be a tree with a crook about halfway up that he can fold himself into, securing his body to the trunk with securely-knotted rope. Joe watches the darkening sky and sees no stars, remembering belatedly that he is inside a structure built by people; of course there are no stars. Oddly enough, even after the anthem is played and faces of the tributes killed--not Ben or Rami or Lucy or Gwil, thank goodness--are projected into the firmament, it is the fact that there are no stars here that is most upsetting to Joe. He cannot pretend he is under the same sky as his family, not anymore. 

Curling up to be in as comfortable a position as he can as he lies pressed against rough bark, "Good night Mom," Joe whispers. "Mary, and Johnny. Sweet dreams. I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's the first day in the Arena, a short chapter, and I'm already a wreck guys. Shit will be going down very soon
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	13. Fear For Your Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concurrent with the end of the last chapter, Ben makes one move and Joe another

Ben meets up with the Careers, all four--two guys and two girls. Obviously the concerns about sexism or unborn millions aren't an issue in the first two districts. Their objective is to eliminate Joe, as he'd feared; strongest tribute in the Gamemaker showing, so biggest threat to them. The blond from Twelve leads the way up the hill into the woods, hoping to discover enough evidence of Joe's passing without leading the others directly to him.

Finds the remains of a snare and fire eventually; it is small, and scattered, and cold. The group continues to move deeper into the forest as darkness falls. Artificial light blooms across the sky, illuminating the faces from the districts who have fallen. Ben's stomach clenches. He sees the six from the bloodbath, another from that freakish lightning strike... And then as the light fades, but before his stomach eases, he smells it. Smoke. Sees a ruddy light flickering through the trees and closes his eyes. 

"Smell that?" A career whispers.

"...Smell what?" Ben asks, stalling for time as his fist tightens round the haft of his spear. Maybe, if he plays dumb...

"_Smoke_, Twelve. No smoke without fire. Let's go." Ben nods, swallowing hard as one of the girls says she sees the fire and starts charging towards it, the others whooping and hustling after her. Ben's stomach flips as he follows, palms clammy around the spear now. He sees the girl tribute from Seven look up as they burst into her clearing, up to her fire. She is mousy, young. Large eyes bulge as she whimpers and turns to run, but the others catch her. She pleads for her life yet it is no use; her pleas fall upon deaf ears and screams fill the air instead, cut short by a single sword thrust.

The group continues walking. The Careers are louder now, bolder. Laughing about and mocking the girl's fear as she begged not to die at their hands. Taunting, uncaring, making Ben feel sicker by the second. That is even before he glances up and spies a figure curled up against a tree, nestled in a high crook. Light is bright enough for just a moment--one of the boys had taken a branch from the dead tribute's fire and lit the end of it like a torch--that Ben catches a glimpse of pale skin with expressive features, and the current expression etched upon them nearly causes the young man to be physically ill. He wants to denounce himself for his betrayal then and there, prostrate himself and explain everything. 

But none of the others have noticed Joe, for that is who Ben sees, and so he moves on, hoping to lead them away, far away from him.

***

Joe stares, brought to wakefulness after a brief doze by screaming and movements and a cannon. He spies the group of Careers, and Ben. He takes in the sight in shock at first; bit of horror as well; and then wonders if, figures this was what Ben had disappeared for at the gala last night. Weirdly, it's a relief to him that the other had just been talking. Making alliances. Still doesn't feel GREAT, of course, but it is way better than what Roger had insinuated. He can handle the thought of Ben making an alliance much more easily than ...engaging in other activities--whoah now Joe. Calm it down there buddy. 

That is the point he hears two of the Careers talking. About Ben.

"... Shouldn't we just kill him?"

Joe's heart thumps and he finds himself gripping treebark, holding his breath.

"Not yet. He's gonna lead us to Arrow Boy. THEN we can kill him when we've got both of them." Joe lets out a breath as quietly as he can. _Wow, A-plus strategy for you, asshole,_ is his instant scathing reaction. These people are real winners. 

Now, though, he's really worried on behalf of Ben. Hopefully he's got an exit strategy. Joe's own exit strategy is to legitimately walk to the edge of the Arena.

Early the next morning, he clambers down out of his tree, catches a fish at the little bend in the river nearby, locates some edible berries, and decides he would like to know exactly how big this place is. For science, and because the less time he contemplates the possibility of having to murder another human being, the better. Oh, and his family used to go on fun hiking trips, years ago, before his father took sick. What can Joe say? He's nostalgic.

The Gamemakers are obviously less so, they don't like his little burst of curiosity. What clues Joe in to that fact is a wall of electricity that shimmers along the far edge of the forest, at a cliff that drops out of the trees. Joe scoops up and tosses a rock, sees the spark and hears the buzzing sound it makes as it hits the thrumming force field to one side of him. A shock lights up the entire field at once then, and "Alrighty then," Joe says aloud. "I will be turning left. We shouldn't fight like this, sparks are flying between us. Clearly the chemistry is amazing." Joe is proud of his joke until a _whoosh!_ of red-gold flames appears and begins consuming trees in front of him. "Okay, you're not into it, clearly I stepped over the line," he skids to a stop and turns. "I'm sorry! Let's just --uh-- talk about this!" He dives for the dirt as a fireball comes at him, filling his vision with orange. 

Joe's face feels broiled, like he had dunked his head in scalding wash water or been out in the sun too long. Yet this has happened in the space of two seconds.

"AAAAH!!!" He screams, leaping over burning logs and waving his arms, feet skidding on fallen leaves--and then another fireball shoots his way as Joe reaches a steep hill, and he smells burning hair and feels heat sharpening to agony on his arm as he half dives, half falls down the hill, rolling and losing his air in painful bursts as he strikes roots and rocks on the forest floor, descending through smoke and foliage and fire....

And then Joe feels the blissful shock of icy liquid; he had thrashed and rolled himself down an embankment into a lake. He moves his arm, feeling a sharp ache and seeing reddening, shiny skin as well as spots of whiteness along the length. Blisters. He'd been burned. Joe almost gasps from the pain, but he hears voices. The Careers.

Tramping across some large flat rocks a couple hundred yards away, the group catches sight of him. As they look over and shout, Joe grins and waves weakly before flipping them off and splashing back to shore, hauling himself out of the water and heading in the opposite direction from them, back into the woods.

"There he goes, aha!"

"Where you goin', Arrow Boy? Where you gonna go?!"

"When we catch ya, won't be able to play any more ball with your brother!" Hearing that particular taunt almost makes Joe freeze, almost take out his knife, turn around, and gut that guy with it. Almost. But he hears Brian telling him to cut his losses, Roger saying to find high ground, and his mother begging him to be safe. So Joe keeps on running in a serpentine pattern til he finds a big tree. Tall, though not the tallest--doesn't want to risk a strange lightning strike coming down on him--but tall and sturdy enough for the purposes of climbing.

Joe's arm feels like it is molten, burning with agony from the burns on it, but he grits his teeth and clambers up the trunk of the tree, wrapping his legs round it and sliding upward as best he can. He looks back once, and down, to see them all come boiling out of the woods, the pack of them. Snarling and snapping, nasty and mean. Like wolverines or something. Ben is at the back of the group, eyes flashing with neither excitement nor bloodlust like the others. No, his eyes hold fear for Joe.

Joe makes it to a crook, the highest he can feasibly fit in, and hangs on for dear life as one of his pursuers shouts "I'm coming for you!" And attempts to climb the tree as well. 

Joe presses his face against the bark, panting from exertion as well as pain as he hears "Get him! Kill him!" Which really makes a guy feel special, wow. Guy after him is either too big or unfamiliar with the fine art of tree climbing, because he grabs a branch, it snaps, and he falls. One of the girls slings a bow off her back. It's a beautiful bow; one Joe aches to get his fingers on, but she doesn't appreciate it, doesn't even bother to shoot as she breathes or allow the bow to become a part of her. Her initial arrow slices the air just behind Joe, and the second one she lets fly passes on the other side of the tree.

"Oh, give it here!" Snaps the one who tried climbing. Joe winces as he snatches the weapon so carelessly. His shot is just as careless: it curves wide. 

"Bad break," Joe calls down. "Which is really a shame. Y'know, I could come down and teach you guys how to shoot if y'wanna be friends--" his suggestion is cut off by a snarl about how the only part of him they'd like to be friends with is his head on a stick. Joe's eyes bulge. These guys are not playing around. "All right then. Rain check on the making friends thing. Which is fine, I'm cool with hanging out up here." He shifts about in order to sit and tie himself in place for the night, only to have agony tear through his burnt arm as he moves. Joe cries out before cinching the length of rope around him, shaking so hard from pain that he can hardly tie the knot. "Oh, Roger, I could really use one 'a those strokes of luck you told us you had in your Games," Joe gasps. 

***

Roger is getting on that. He sees Joe tying himself down, painfully, and winces sympathetically at the slow manner in which the tribute pours a bit of water over his wounded arm, trying to find relief any way he can. Tears are rolling down the young man's pale cheeks and Roger cannot take the sight. "Fuck this," the mentor mutters as he stomps out to speak to sponsors. "Hang on, Joe."

It is past midnight and lightning strikes again at the same area in the Arena as before. Joe jerks out of a pain-filled doze to see it, and is ready to drift off again when he spies a pale shape floating down from the sky into his peripheral vision. A soft beeping sound emanates from it. A sponsor parachute. Hits the trunk a foot or so above his head, and more flames of agony lick up his arm as he stretches to grab it. Joe shimmies up a bit, blood beading on his lip as he bites it to keep from making any sound, and his fingers catch hold of a tiny container underneath the parachute. A note is attached to the surface of a jar of what appears to be some sort of cream--a salve, if you will.

_ **If you want to fight the bloody fire, rub this on your arm and keep yourself alive. ~ Roger** _

Reading that, Joe simply has to smile. With a slight grunt he settles down again and ties himself in place. Fingers stiffening a bit from exhaustion as well as cold--the temperature feels as though it has dropped at least twenty degrees since the sun went down--Joe scoops up some salve and slaps it on his arm. A cool tingling feeling makes him groan with pleasure as he rubs the cream into his blistered skin before scooping more. "Thank you," Joe whispers into the air after enough coats cause the pain to become nearly non-existent. He tucks the rest of the salve into a pocket of his backpack. "Thanks Roger," Joe murmurs before drifting off to sleep.

He wakes early next morning ready to take on the day and the Careers. He hopes. A thick fog settles over the trees. Misty tendrils curl upward as shadows of limbs and trunks catch Joe's eyes. Fog clears enough beneath him for Joe to spot the Careers (and Ben) all stretched out underneath his tree. Ben is the farthest away. Joe stretches as best he can, searching in his mind and in the surrounding area to discover some way to rid himself of them all. 

"Psst!" Joe hears, and then rhythmic snapping precedes a quiet voice crooning "_She keeps her moet et chandon in her pretty cabinet,_"

Twisting his head to follow that though only recently met, an already familiar voice, Joe sights a pair of large eyes staring at him from another tree. His heart leaps gladly. "Rami, oh it's great to see you!" Rami nods and smiles at Joe, inviting him to continue the song, because he hears mockingjays beginning to mimic now, and if they fly over and sing loud enough it will mask any words Rami and Joe exchange. So "_'Let them eat cake', she says, just like Marie Antoinette._" Joe sings back. 

Rami beams as the birds sing along with them for the next portion of made-up names and remedies: "_A built-in remedy for Kruschev and Kennedy--and anytime her invitation you can't decliiiine...,_" With that Joe indicates the Careers below.

"Any ideas what I should do about them?" He calls softly, and Rami points over his shoulder with another nod.

A low constant humming pervaded the area, and Joe thought it was the electric forcefield, but the sound ebbed and flowed, and as he follows Rami's pointing finger with his eyes, Joe understands why. Out of sight in the dark, a bit above where he'd gotten his parachute last night, a bulbous grey mass is attached to a branch and buzzing dark shapes bob and weave around it. 

Joe swallows. He is looking at an insect nest. Not just any insects live there, either; these are tracker jackers. Giant specially engineered wasplike bloodhound-esque insects. Their stings cause horrid hallucinations, agonising pain, and in extreme cases, death. And once they've got your scent they follow you. Now Joe gulps. "_Extraordinarily nice..._" he squeaks, untying himself and inching his way closer to the nest before withdrawing his knife from his bag, continuing to sing softly so as to calm his rising nerves. Rami is already moving out of his own treetop perch as Joe lifts his knife to saw at the branch onto which the tracker jacker nest is attached. "_She's a killer queen, gunpowder, gelatin. Dynamite with a laserbeam, guaranteed to blow your mind--_" he lets out a strangled hissing yelp as a tracker jacker buzzes past his hand. "_Aah, anytime--!_" 

Moving the knife faster, luckily it is serrated, Joe saws deeper into the branch, hearing it crack. Humming becomes buzzing that rises to a roar as Joe feels a sharp sting upon the exposed skin of his neck, and another. One, two-- and then with a third sharp loud snapping sound the branch with nest attached to it falls, exploding onto the ground and the Careers far below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Games are afoot, Ben's made a dubious alliance (tsk tsk, Benny), and Joe is cracking jokes (good on you Joe, keep that sense of humour alive!).
> 
> Roger's pissed off (who can blame him, though, really?) and I imagine Brian with wide wet eyes clutching Roger's hand as he watches the action unfold, hating the sight but unable to look away... :'( don't even get me started on Joe's family.
> 
> *I thought "Killer Queen" lyrics seemed oddly apropos to the tracker jacker situation. And of course, since this is an alternate universe, the names in the song would sound made-up to the listeners ;P What do you think?
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	14. Death All Around Will Be Your Dow'ry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the fall...
> 
> WARNING for potentially frightening images borne from graphic deaths and hallucinations

A scream like Joe has never heard before splits the morning air around him. It is a banshee's cry, the sound of a mother losing her child before her eyes, a dying scream. He nearly falls from the tree, a sharp pain dulling and expanding from the duo of places where he was stung.

More screams and the sounds of pounding feet emanate from below as all flee but the girl who had been resting directly in the path of the nest as it fell. Her agonized screeches are the ones reverberating throughout Joe's skull as he nearly falls from the tree, working to climb down carefully even as his world tilts on its axis. Sparks of pale light float across his vision, before what appears to be a black viscous substance, thick and oily, begins rising from out of the bark to coat his limbs. This makes Joe shriek and relinquish his hold, falling to the ground with a heavy thud that knocks all of the air out of his lungs. 

Nothing is upon him; no black oil. Joe is scrambling, in pain and trying to stand as he sees that bow, clutched in swollen purple fingers, like plums. Bulbous and strained like the eyes, blood vessels standing out of yellowish irises--the body of a tribute who had been rather physically attractive, actually; her long hair is the only part of her recognisable after the swelling and other effects of the tracker jackers. This is the girl who'd slept under the nest. Her eyes now stare into nothing as her immobile, lifeless fingers clench round the bow. 

Joe lets out a series of yelps and tugs at the weapon, hearing sickening crunching sounds from the fingers of the dead girl, and he hopes the sounds are more proof that he's hallucinating, like the sight of black goo, rather than legitimately occuring. "Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...," He finds himself whimpering. Even though she had shot at him and showcased an amount of bloodlust the night before that was legitimately disturbing to Joe, she still had a life and a family, and he never wanted to kill anybody. But he had killed her.

Joe's apologetic mantra is cut short by the appearance of a wild-haired wide-eyed face. Blond hair, horrified sea-green eyes. Ben. "Joe, mate, what are you still doing under this tree? Get on, you've gotta get out of here-- go go go!" Joe stares dumbly as he hears shouts in the distance, muffled by the trees but mostly by the feeling that his ears are plugged with cotton. He sways, feels Ben's hands on his shoulders as the other drops his spear. Ben's grip feels like fire, burning--Ben is helping him up, taking the bow from Joe's almost-slack hand. Joe sways as he tries to grab it but Ben's hanging it with its quiver across his back, and he's so close...Joe looks into his face and suddenly it's grey and dead as his father's, teeth bared in a skull, and Joe shrieks and shoves away. He listens to what Ben said, turns and runs through the forest. Light leeches away to become grey and oppressive, black burned trunks...Joe is hallucinating, he knows he is in the small part of his mind that remembers he is in the Hunger Games. He sees pinpricks of light amongst the dark trees, hard hats and gaunt expressions. He sees his father, bright and laughing, and then as Joe runs to him his face gets sunken and he disappears. _No!_ Joe tries to scream. _Dad--_ but roiling blackness takes him, swallows him up, and Joe staggers as he runs for his mother, his sister, his brother. He sees them; they need him. Suddenly blackened loaves of bread are chucked into his path by a shape with glowing eyes, and then the figure speaks: "Get out of here, Joe!"

Joe scoops up the bread and looks at his family, but their expressions are all dead and empty even as they open their mouths and chant "Go, Joe, go!" Joe keeps running, legs pounding, lungs burning. His family disappears but he reaches the figure at last. Yet as he does, holding out his hands, the bread explodes as Joe falls forward and the glowing pair of eyes morph from green to grey. "Come on," he hears and as the figure reaches out he jerks into wakefulness instantly.

***

Joe wakes to find himself alone, beside a small rocky overhang, resting on moss and grass. He hears the trickle of water, a stream, he'd guess, and feels a breeze against his skin. His shirt is off, and he shifts, noticing a poultice of what looks like mud and herbs. Well, he notices three of them--one on his neck, a place on his chest, and over the burns on his arm. Joe puts his hands down to lift himself, body twinging.

"Careful," a soothing voice intones, and darker-toned hands are on his shoulders. He looks up into a pair of luminous grey eyes. 

"Rami!" Joe cries, throwing caution to the winds as he flings his arms around Rami's shoulders. The other man hugs him back tightly. "Boy am I glad to see you. Didja follow me out of the tree?"

"Well, you were screaming and crashing through the woods," Rami's tone now holds a hint of dry amusement. "...I wasn't going to wait until somebody ELSE found you." He sits beside Joe now and nods at the poultices. "May I?" Joe nods and Rami carefully peels the dried mud and leaves away from Joe's neck, using a bit of water he had apparently gotten out of the stream that is running just beyond the overhang. "You've been out about three days," Rami tells him now. "I've changed these twice, but I think you're done with them now, which is good." He checks the state of Joe's skin. "Had to pull out the stingers," he winces. "Luckily you only got hit three times in all, or...." Joe clenches his eyes shut with a nod and a shudder. He sees the girl again in his mind's eye. Even if some of the way she looked was due to hallucinating, it still seemed like a truly horrific way to die. He shudders and listens as Rami continues speaking, cleaning his skin with more cool water before turning and getting Joe's shirt. "Here's your shirt back," he says. "Sorry for removing it," apologetically. "You were thrashing around and feverish from the stings, and I had to make sure I got all of them out."

Rami looks genuinely worried as he says all that, like Joe's going to be pissed off at him for saving his life. Joe's heart goes out as he pulls the garment over his head. He reaches over and squeezes the other's arm gratefully. "Nah it's cool, Rami. I'm fine with you seeing my bod, not waiting til I was awake to ask." Going serious, he adds "You probably saved my life by doing all this, so." He makes a goofy face and laughs. "Let's do it again sometime!" Rami's eyes widen and he adds "Jeez, can't stop making jokes, I'm so sorry. Hope you get what I mean though."

"I do," a small smile tugs at Rami's mouth. "I mean, I get that you're appreciative that I saved your life, so you're welcome, Joe."

"Yes!" Joe beams. "Thank you! And thanks for the assist up the tree in the first place. I, uh." He clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably. "Wasn't completely sure how to get outta that. Did--anybody else--?" He is having a hard time completing the question, feels tears prick his eyes. He hates doing this. He peeks over to see the other man looking at him with understanding.

Rami's voice is gentle. "Get killed from the nest?" He asks. Joe swallows hard and nods. "No, just the one girl. The rest managed to get away. Some of them might have been stung as well though."

Good, maybe their hallucinating made 'em a little more humble, Joe thinks. Wait. What about--? "And Ben?" He asks. "Guy from my district?"

"Sexy tree man, I didn't see him after," Rami speaks with another smile. Of course he remembers Joe referring to Ben as the sexiest tree. "I did see him roll and move when the nest hit the ground initially. He got away from the area pretty fast."

Joe exhales in sharp... relief, he thinks. Isn't quite certain what the feeling is, because he's confused as to whether or not he actually saw Ben when he was hallucinating or not. Seeing Ben allied with the Careers in the first place makes him wonder if the guy would come back at all. It's just that Ben is really cool, and nice, and attractive...oh god Joe what are you thinking? Sure he said he has feelings for you, but Roger is playing up that sympathetic, unattainable angle for sponsorship. Gotta give people something to root for, right? Joe gets it, but he also cannot help comparing feelings to the real love like his parents had. Still have, his mom will never lose it. Joe recalls his father's face suffused with happiness and his mother's eyes were just as bright. If that type of devotion isn't the sort to aspire to, Joe doesn't know what is. "...Wait, sorry, what'd you say?" He inquires of Rami, as the other man had spoken and looks at Joe expectantly.

"Oh, I asked if you wanted to get moving. I figure we may not want to stay here; can find a more secure spot now that you're better." There appears to be another question in the set of Rami's eyebrows and the curve of his mouth, but he doesn't ask it, not yet.

"Yeah, we should probably move," Joe agrees. "Hey Rami," he adds as the other begins gathering supplies, handing Joe his backpack. "This means we're pals now, right? Allies?" He feels a lump fill his throat as he thinks on what Brian had said about John and Freddie being allies, but pushes that back. This is different. Different Games, right?

And Rami looks so happy as he says "Yes, Joe, that's--wonderful. I mean I would really like to be."

"It's settled then," Joe hauls the straps of his pack higher in his shoulders. "Let's go, my friend." Rami nods and moves in-step with Joe as they depart their camp into the blue and sunny morning, wondering what will be in store for them. Hoping for some good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well Joe and Rami are allies now. Hooray! 
> 
> I hate doing what I'm doing but I am going by Hunger Games so there will be more death and I'm already getting sad. But! This chapter was...nice, right?
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	15. Should Death Await You, Cold of Night Will Fall

Joe is incredibly pleased and proud to use his newly procured bow to shoot down some dinner. Rami's blissful expression after he mashes up some edible berries and herbs to eat with the meat Joe shot and cooked is one of the best things Joe has seen so far in the arena.

"My brother would be so grossed out," Rami says, licking his lips as he bites into a piece of meat, tearing it from the bone.

"By eating a well-cooked squirrel?" Joe inquires.

"By all of this," Rami supplies, waving a hand as grease smears across his mouth. "Mm, that's really good." He swallows and blots his lips clean as best he can with a leaf. "No, he--he's an interesting guy, my Sami. He'd say there aren't nearly enough pretty girls in here, and he'd also say these should be kissing games instead of killing games."

Joe snorts. "What, so like, the first tribute who makes out with everyone else wins? Wow." Ponders that for a minute. "Well I would personally rather have a dance off," he says. "Or a karaoke contest. But I'm sure Ben would be really good at these hypothetical kissing games."

"Oh, really?" Rami purses his lips to stop a smile as he leans in towards Joe. "Why, have you witnessed him kissing anybody?"

"No, but I--I bet he likes to kiss," Joe stammers. "Seems like he'd be a good kisser, he's got the lips for it." Rami smirks. "Not that I was noticing! I mean, not intentionally noticing, I just saw... what?" His companion is now laughing hysterically. "Okay, so I noticed," Joe humphs. "But that's a ridiculous idea anyway. The Kissing Games sounds like a bad television show." Rami's guffaws peter into giggles now as Joe shakes his head. "...Your twin brother sounds like quite a guy."

"He's certainly one-of-a-kind," returns Rami. "Even though we're identical twins. I even got my first kiss that way, which might be a bit--well more than a bit unethical now that I mention it." Joe raises his eyebrows. "But anyway, now I know the answer to my question," Rami says.

"What question?"

"The question of whether or not there are real feelings between you and Ben," Rami testifies warmly. Joe coughs. "I could tell his on-air admission was real when I heard it. I know it was probably hard to believe, though." Gentle compassion is writ all over Rami's face as he nods to Joe. "...especially being where we are, but I can tell you've got some feelings too."

Hard to believe? Try impossible; Joe still has trouble with the veracity of Ben's feelings. There was a valid reason to say nothing after the interview. This guy--kind, quiet, a killer baker (Joe has eaten some of his cakes before, he wasn't just joking about needing one in the Arena), beautiful--he would be a catch for anybody, and yet he likes Joe of all people. Poor, loud, grubby Joe, who wouldn't even BE here if it wasn't for help Ben gave him once.

Ben probably doesn't even remember. Why would he? It was after Joe's father died; his mother couldn't teach dance classes, couldn't bear to do it without her husband by her side. Mary was working as a seamstress but not enough income was coming in for enough food. John especially got so thin--always skinny, he'd been starving. And Joe didn't know what to do. He left the house one grey day, wandering through the district aimlessly. He got it into his head first to beg for a job and then, if that didn't work, to walk into the woods and leave so his food portions would go to Mary and John. They would be okay then, and so would his mom. But leaving... after his dad wasted away, after his mother lost the love of her life, Joe felt sick at the thought of her learning he had gone as well. His stomach lurched and he was ill beside the corner of a building as thunder cracked overhead and a deluge of rainwater suddenly poured down, washing his sick away before turning the ground to slop and muck. Joe sank into it, not caring; he curled up and lifted his face to the sky, letting his tears fall down with the rain.

He grew cold and then caught a scent of something warm, hearty, welcoming, bright--his stomach growled as he smelled bread dough, and lowered his head, wiping water from his face. He'd somehow managed to have his crisis at the rear of the bakery. Was sitting at the edge of an alley across from its kitchens. And shining in the window, bare arms outlined in the ruddy golden light, was the baker's boy, working the bellows for the fire. Strong and clean but for a dusting of flour on his sweating muscular skin, over which an apron was tied to cover the lower half of his chest and drape over his pants. Joe must have made a noise; involuntary, he couldn't help it--and a pair of bright blue-green eyes lifted and met his. Joe stared and swallowed and curled in on himself, shrinking back, for once unable to raise a hand and wave or to be boisterous in any form or fashion. He felt awful, small and cold and ashamed. And then he heard shouting and the young man's mother--she had the same round face, but with none of its kindness--cuffed him around the head. Joe saw her pointing outside and here her son, the baker boy came, bare-chested now as he'd flung off his industrial apron, still sweating from the heat of the ovens. He held two burnt loaves of bread in his hands. Hearty bread, only blackened slightly on the bottom and one side. He tore the black bits off and chucked them away, into a pigpen that stood beside the bakery. Biting his lip and glancing over, he chucked the rest of the bread towards Joe. 

The loaves landed in front of him, and hope came with them. Joe scooped the bread up, feeling it warming his body as he ran, heading home. The baker disappeared inside, and Joe saw a plump bird hopping about, pecking at the burnt crumbs left in the muddy road. Joe could catch such a bird, or shoot it down; he could get his own food, for himself and his family, and for others as well. He knew then that he would be all right, and all that occurred because of the kindness of that baker boy. Ben. Joe swallows now, gathering up the refuse from another plump animal that he'd just eaten, focusing on Rami again and coming back to the present. All he can think to articulate is "...We have a bit of a weird history, Ben and I."

"Weird isn't necessarily a bad thing," says Rami seriously. "Weird is different, and different is beautiful. Which means you, Joe, are gorgeous." Joe flushes, face twisting. "I mean it," Rami speaks with utter sincerity as he pats Joe's hand before helping him clear away the signs of their presence. "I can tell."

Joe wants so badly to demand how Rami can tell, and what that means for him and Ben; but he figures he should just leave this be--doesn't want to press his luck in the Games too far, and Rami has already been super amazing at keeping him alive.

***

The pair of them get into a routine: Joe finds a big enough tree with enough foliage to hide them and let them sleep at least semi-comfortably. He hangs his waterproof blanket like a hammock when he can. Luckily Rami likes to cuddle and is pretty adept at it. Rami locates berries and water, and Joe traps or shoots a quail or a squirrel. Hasn't seen any rabbits or deer as of yet. Ooh he would LOVE some venison, but a blaze big enough to roast that would most definitely be seen. So he makes do with the small things.

One day Rami returns to their current camp with some nuts along with his berries, as well as some news. "I saw a clearing--the Careers have another couple of allies, I guess. Someone from the Power District for sure, because they've reconfigured their mines around this enormous pile of food and supplies. It seems like they're stocking up for something."

"The grand finale," Joe intones sardonically, in a pretty good impression of Mike Myers' dulcet tones. "Everyone MUST go!"

"Come on, Joe, I'm being serious," Rami shoves him lightly.

Joe bumps Rami's shoulder. "I know, so'm I. Sounds pretty tempting, maybe we should check it out, see if we can help them all..." he pauses and his lips twitch as his eyes brighten, preparing to make a pun. Rami covers his face. 

"Please don't say it...,"

But Joe does. Of course he does. "Go out with a bang!"

Rami sighs and leads Joe back to where the clearing was. They see the food camp and one tribute sitting at the outermost edge of a pile--Rami was right, it is pretty gigantic, extending up at LEAST twenty feet. Boxes and bags of fruit, what looks like medical supplies, cured meat, weapons... "These cocky motherfuckers," Joe whispers in fury. Rami stares at him, eyes wide with shock. "What? I'm mad! People are starving back home and there's all this food and crap here, but why do WE need it? Oh yeah, as fuel to help us kill each other! Fantastic fucking plan, yo!" He lets out a strangled shout and Rami yanks him back into the forest quickly. "Sorry, I'm sorry," Joe breathes as they hustle away so as not to be seen. Hopefully no one's followed. "...I'm good."

"You're good?" Rami holds Joe's arm gently, rubbing it with a thumb.

Joe breathes, nods. "Yeah, I am. Thanks Rami." He smiles a little and focuses back. "Okay, I saw where they dug up and reburied their mines--looks like there are some pressure plates at intervals. We gotta step lightly," he cracks. "Or I just gotta get something to fall down on a pressure plate."

Curled up and sheltered that night, they go over their plan in whispers: Rami will start lighting giant fires around the woods so the Careers will leave their base to go on the hunt. "Like we're animals," Rami murmurs in disgust. Joe had told him about the fire on their first night. Joe winces now, recalling how he'd said this would be like hunting to his family. He had not meant it, not really; just being the jokester, as usual. But now... Now, it is all-too-real. "I'll get up in a tree and signal when the coast is clear. The mockingjays will hear me."

"And I'll signal back after I blow their shit up," says Joe, wrapping an arm around Rami and holding him close. "This is gonna be somethin', I can feel it. Gonna turn the tide."

Rami nods, his face pressed against Joe's chest as he wraps his arms around and holds his friend and ally tight. He admires Joe's optimism. "I hope so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaah so much happened!
> 
> *Okay the boys are bonding
> 
> *I know Rami said the "different is beautiful, and he was gorgeous" line about Freddie, which I love so much, but I think he needed to say it about Joe here
> 
> *Sami is hilarious to me and I hope you like him; I feel like if they met, he and Joe might get along ;)
> 
> *Joe is actually a bit insecure as well, I know, what is this??? But he's been through some tough times. Baker Benny to the rescue!
> 
> A plan is afoot to blow the Career stock. I have a feeling those who've read the books and seen the movies will know what happens next... I'm already getting emotional guys
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	16. Summoned By Your Own Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan comes to fruition and then crap goes down
> 
> WARNING FOR DEATH

Following day dawns bright, a sunny morn in the Arena. 

After eating a meal and gathering as much green kindling that will smoke when lit, Rami and Joe share a tight embrace and make the promise to meet back up after signalling each other. Rami holds Joe as close as he can, pressing his face into the neck of his ally. 

Joe feels Rami shaking and presses his face into the other's soft hair. He can't help but recall hugging his brother on Reaping Day before all this, and he feels his heart drop but tries to remain optimistic. "Hey, we're gonna be all right, Rami," Joe pulls back and holds onto Rami's shoulders. "Okay?"

Rami nods, trying to smile as he wipes his eyes. "Yes, Joe. I'm sure we are." He swallows hard, eyes huge. "I mean, I hope..." He shakes his head and sucks in a huge breath. 

Joe rubs Rami's back. "It's gonna be okay." He smiles again before squeezing Rami's arms and letting go, giving him a thumbs up before diving into the trees and heading for the Career clearing. 

He crawls under a low bush to watch the clearing, and soon enough hears shouts, rolling over to spot smoke rising. Rami has lit the first big fire. Hopefully he's moving to the second as Joe watches Sword Boy and his two friends say something to the tribute from Three. Joe shifts round to check on the pressure plates. If he could throw heavy things he would fling a rock onto the nearest plate and blow the whole shebang. But alas, he is not Ben. He hasn't seen Ben since the tracker jackers. Hopes he's doing all right. 

Focusing back onto the supply tower, Joe decides he can shoot something off the side. He scans around and finds a bag of produce hanging off one end. Perfect. Sliding his bow off his shoulder and nocking an arrow, Joe stands and shoots, nicking the bag. Second arrow goes a bit wide, striking a box behind and humming as it hits and imbeds. For the third arrow, Joe brings up his arm and breathes with the release. Arrow catches the bag and rips it down the side, sending fruit rolling and bouncing down to stop on the metal plate and mound of dirt beside. A jet, an explosion of yellow and red and grey, black, brown loam sends half the tower into the air, and pieces of parts of the tower fly to hit the other plates, causing a chain reaction of explosiveness.

The blast of heat and sound sends Joe backwards, he skids into the underbrush and throws his arms over his face as debris continues to fly. He waits, ears ringing, and opens his eyes to see one Career return, followed by another. He sees their faces blanch, screaming, furious and horrified and Joe feels satisfied, pumps his fist in jubilation. Score one for the little guys. 

Looking back Joe nods and heads on through the woods past their fires. He whistles their chosen song, and as the mockingjays take it and continue, Joe hears his name called out in anguish: "JOE!!!"

Rami's voice.

***

Joe hears the shout and runs, plunging blindly between the trees, arms up as leaves and vines whip at his skin. He explodes past a tree to find Rami caught in a net trap, a rope cinching tightly around his leg, cutting off circulation. His eyes are dilated in terror as he loses bloodflow. "Hey Rami, easy, easy. I've got this, I've got you, hang on." Joe drops to his knees and slings his pack off his back, unzipping it to withdraw his knife. Checks around Rami's leg as the other holds as still as possible, whimpering a little. Joe finds the slipknot and slices it. "There ya go, buddy," Joe rubs the other man's leg, trying to get blood moving again. 

Rami clutches at him as they stand, Joe holding him to help his friend put his weight down. And then a sound behind him causes Joe to whirl. It is the third Career, moving, chucking a spear. Joe swings his bow off his back and hears Rami gasp like he's been sucker-punched. Joe goes to one knee and shoots an arrow through the Career tribute's neck, tasting bile as he does so.

"Joe," Rami gasps, and Joe drops his bow and turns to see the spear shaft lodged in soft skin just below Rami's ribcage. No. Oh, no no no. Rami's legs buckle and Joe lunges, catching his friend as he falls, going down too. Rami grasps Joe's hand as if it is a lifeline. 

"Yes Rami, I'm here," Joe chokes.

"Hi," Rami breathes.

"Hi," Joe bends over him, helps extend his legs before stroking back Rami's dark hair. "Oh, Rami...,"

"It's okay," Rami gasps. "Did you--did you blow up the stock?" 

"Yep," Joe nods frantically, sniffling and swallowing hard. "To smithereens. And smithereens of smithereens." He wipes his nose, trying to hold himself together as he cinches one shaking arm around Rami's shuddering shoulders. 

"Good," Rami chokes, spittle congealing at the corner of his mouth as he fights to breathe. "That's-- really good, Joe. Means you--have a chance." Tears are filling his large luminous eyes now. "Will you... tell Lucy that I'm sorry? I--really did want...to give her flowers someday."

"Ah, Rami, you smooth sweet wonderful man." Joe is crying now, even as he wishes he was not. Wishes he could be stronger for his friend. But still he tries to smile, to assure "Y-you can tell her yourself. Just stay with me, Rami Malek. If you do that, everything's-- we're gonna be all right." He drops his head, shaking as he tries not to whimper. "Please."

"Joe," Rami looks up at him with desperate fondness and a heart-rending smile that makes Joe's stomach sink into his feet. "Can you--would you sing something for me, please?"

Sing. Oh, god. Joe sniffs and wipes one sleeve across his eyes and cheeks, hand now pressing ineffectually to the growing stain around the other man's abdominal wound, the spear shaft shaking with Rami's aborted breaths. Joe clears his throat and tries to sing, voice cracking:

"_There's no time for us -- there's no place for us. What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet slips away from us? Who wants to live forever? Who wants to live forever?! Ooh -- there's no chance for us. It's all decided for us..._" 

Joe clenches his fist in Rami's hair, lifting his face to the sky with voice aching, teeth gritted now.

"_This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us. Who wants to live forever? Who wants to live forever, who? Who dares to love forever, ohhh --WHEN LOVE MUST DIE?!_" 

Joe screams this last. Rami is panting, gasping for air, he's moving back and forth a little as he continues clutching at Joe. He is crying now as well, eyes and cheeks shiny and wet with tears. Joe dips his face and brushes his lips across Rami's cheeks as he whispers

"_Touch my tears, with your lips. Touch my world with your fingertips...._" 

Lacing his fingers with Rami's and hanging on to his hand

"_And we can have forever, and we can love forever! Forever is our today...,_" 

Rami gasps one more time before going utterly slack and still. The spear shaft ceases trembling. "Rami?" Joe croaks as he checks for a pulse. Nothing. No breath left. Dropping his face onto the other's still chest, Joe gasps "Who waits...who wants forever anyway?"

Smoothing back Rami's dark hair and closing his eyes gently with two fingers, Joe stands on shaky legs and rips the spear free from his friend's body with a moan. He's got to do something, something nice. Find flowers. Yes. Rami deserves flowers, like his father gave, like the ones he wanted to give Lucy...he needs something, anything nice in the hellishness of this Arena. And Joe doesn't give a damn if anyone finds him as he searches for flowers because he is burning up with enough rage and sorrow to go for anybody. 

He couldn't even finish the whole song. Wasn't able to do that much. "Oh, Rami, I'm sorry," Joe whispers to his still friend after he finds flowers and brings them, arranging them around Rami's immobile face. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *If we have Rami Malek we're gonna be all right = this is the saddest version of a reference I've ever used, Joe said it in a really lovely speech for Rami at Sundance
> 
> *Oh, look, "Who Wants To Live Forever" is sorrowful, I wonder why??? :_(
> 
> The only thing I can do here is echo Joe's sentiment. I'm sorry for doing this, my loves.
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	17. And Two By Two, My Human Zoo

Nobody else does find him, though, and Joe remains with Rami for as long as he can, holding his frigid stiffening hand and jerking as he hears the cannon and then the sound of an air vehicle coming to remove the body. Before it touches down, Joe moves away, looking first at Rami on his bed of flowers and taking his dear friend and ally's cheeks in his hands to kiss him on the forehead a final time. 

Joe blows a kiss to the sky then, too numb to consciously recall the Head Gamemaker's words to him, but people watching see and feel and react.

Riots rage that night across District Eleven. 

Joe does not, cannot react anymore; he plunges blindly through the trees again, running into one and another as he uses the killing spear to keep himself standing. He couldn't simply leave it there for someone else to find after taking it out of Rami's body. Oh, god, Rami... Joe sobs again, running away. Until nightfall when he is forced to climb a tree and cinch himself against its trunk. Wrapping his legs round and pressing his face to the bark--splinters be damned, if he is going to die from a tree branch stabbing through his face, so be it--Joe shudders and sobs. 

The way he felt in the aftermath of tracker jacker poison or the exploding stock is nothing compared to this. No; this is much closer to the way he felt after his father died. Added to the grief this time is that, any way one slices it, Joe got Rami killed. He should have gotten back to him sooner, or stayed with him in the first place; kept his eyes upon the forest around them, heard that bast-- that person--come up, should have stopped the spear. He grabbed it after, but too late. Too late. Too-- now Joe freezes, mid-thought. His innards turn to ice. Ben. Ben had that spear, it had been his weapon. The Career guy must've taken it. That has to mean...no. Ben is alive, his face hasn't flashed up during the cannon toll, Joe would have seen it! But....

God, what if--? Joe cannot complete his thought before this night's cannon toll begins and he loses it as he sees Rami's gentle gaze one last time. Joe closes his eyes, face screwed up in agony, and then for the first time since he has been in the Arena, he hears a voice.

"ATTENTION TRIBUTES. THE RULING ALLOWING FOR A SINGLE VICTOR HAS BEEN SUSPENDED. AS OF NOW, TWO TRIBUTES--IF THEY HAIL FROM THE SAME DISTRICT--CAN BE CROWNED VICTORIOUS. MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOUR."

As the artificial light winks out and the sound fades away, Joe snorts, wiping his eyes. Cruel bastards, coming up with this ruling now when he's alone. But no, wait, he isn't-- Joe hadn't heard his cannon-- hands trembling against the bark beside and rope around him, Joe calls Ben's name.

***

Ben is not feeling so great. An alliance with the Careers is not a stellar plan if one cannot keep up the act necessary for said alliance to work. So Ben is bleeding, feeling an electric shock of agony every time he moves. He's weak, and hopes no one will find him. Well, that the right person does; otherwise Ben just hopes whoever locates his trail, his presence, and sees his profusely-bleeding leg will have mercy enough to kill him quickly. Death may not be so bad; they say dying is to sleeping, after all. Nestling down farther into the area he has cloistered himself, Ben crosses both arms over his chest and shivers. He is incredibly cold and so does his best to cover his extremities with leaves.

Next afternoon, Joe is panicking. Well, panic might be a strong word, but after having an ally in Rami, he realises how little he enjoyed being alone. He goes back to the tree with the tracker jacker nest beneath, its lumpy grey remnants scattered across the forest floor, and spins around, closing his eyes and trying to remember from which direction Ben had come, and gone. Joe knows he had started hallucinating by then, so he is fuzzy on the details, but he thinks he's got the general direction.

Joe heads onward and reaches an escarpment overlooking a river, downstream from the pond where he had ended up after the fire in the woods. He stoops to check the lay of leaves and torn ground, remembering his father's instructions on finding a wounded deer. Mary was always better at noticing the evidence of their passing, she was much more patient than he. But here, now, a life depends --well, at least could depend-- on this. Joe squints, carefully studying the leaves, and jackpot! Underneath the leaves he brushes away there are some broken branches. Deep dark stains, rusty red, deep purple, are soaked into the surface of the wood and beneath. Joe's heart sinks. Blood. He stays low and follows the trail of scuffed leaves, sees some tracks where a body was dragging, but also areas where the leaves were pushed back across the scuffed-up ground. As though whatever had been dragging itself also attempted to cover its tracks. Not an animal, then.

Recalling what Roger had said to the pair of them about finding water, Joe sidesteps down, sliding to the edge of the river. A stand of trees hangs over the river from the bank, and Joe shakes his head. Could it honestly be that easy? Had Ben actually painted himself to look like a tree?

Ben wakes from a fitful doze, the light shining brightly enough to blind him. He feels hot, burning, and then frigid. He hears his heartbeat thudding loud, so very loud in his ears; and then he hears another sound. Footsteps. He clenches his hands, squeezes his eyes shut, prays to be mistaken. But no. The footsteps remain and sound as though they're coming closer.

Joe moves carefully over some flat rocks between himself and the trees as he spots more blots of blood and notices the swiftness of the river. If all that blood is Ben's, there is no way he could cross. And likely no reason to; sparks in the air across the river tell Joe there is another forcefield. Great. 

As Joe's foot touches the edge of one of the rocks, something shoots out and grabs his ankle. "AUGH!" He screams, registering a grey-coloured ...hand. Shaded to appear slick and stonelike. Only one person he knows here has artistic skills like that. "Ben?!" Joe drops to his knees, eyes roving over the rock pile to see expertly-shaded bare skin. A pair of blue-green eyes blink open. "Oh my god, Ben."

"Hey, buddy," Ben breathes weakly, teeth flashing in a smile as his bleary gaze recognises Joe. He shifts and tries to move up, having clamped himself between the lip of the bank and a large rock. His torso, arms, hands, and face are all shaded grey and moss and dirt is clumped in his hair. Joe does not hesitate to wrap his arms around Ben and pull him in for a hug. Ben's face is muffled in Joe's shoulder, so his next words are inaudible. 

"Oh it's good to see you," Joe's voice is cracking all over the place as he shakes, clutching his fellow tribute tight. "It's been a...rough couple of days."

"Tell me about it," Ben groans as he hugs Joe back. He lets out an involuntary yelp as Joe moves and unintentionally jostles Ben, which sends a burst of agony through his wounded leg. 

Instantly Joe is concerned. "Where were you hit? Let's have a look. Oh, sugar honey iced tea!" He hisses as he sees the gash in Ben's trousers, deep in his leg. The skin around it is shiny from swelling, but the wound is crusted and oozing pus and blood. It looks deep, like Ben was struck to the bone. 

"It's bad, isn't it?" Ben asks softly. His words are more of a statement than a question as he watches Joe's face. "I... didn't want to look," he admits.

Joe gulps. "Uh, no, no. It's--you're gonna be fine, Benny." The other man does not believe him. With forced nonchalance and widening eyes, Joe asks "...Just outta curiosity, what, what did that?"

"The sword." Ben sighs, brushing the last few bits of moss and loam out of his blond hair. "Hey, Joe--"

"Nope," Joe responds immediately, crouching and pulling Ben's arm around his neck. Their faces are very close. 

Ben rolls his eyes. "You don't know what I'm gonna say."

"Yes, I do," Joe nods rapidly. "You've got that look in your eyes, the lost puppy look, and it's really cute, but ya only get it when you're being hopeless or about to talk badly about yourself, so no. I'm not gonna leave you here to bleed out all over these rocks, Benny. I'm not gonna do that. You're stuck with me now. C'mon." 

With a grunt he hauls Ben upright-- or rather, Ben hauls himself to a standing position with Joe's help. Even after his extensive blood loss, Ben remains strong. They begin stepping together, Ben leaning heavily on Joe, searching for someplace relatively safe to go-- out of the elements and whatever else the Gamemakers decide to throw their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is still sad but Joe and Ben are together again, hooray! Thank goodness for Joe's woodcraft and Ben's camouflage. He was certainly a sexy pile of rocks ;P
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	18. Let All Your Treasure Make You...

The pair of tributes from District Twelve limp and haul themselves down the edge of the river, Joe utilising the spear as a walking stick, which Ben notices. He also realises something else. "Oi, Joe," the blond utters quietly, a smile stretching across his face. 

"Yes Ben?" Joe glances at him as they move a bit farther out of the forest. He is looking for...well, he will know it when he sees it. He hopes.

"So, you think I'm cute, huh?"

"What?" Joe squawks and stops dead. Ben's smile slips just a bit.

"A little while ago, you said you thought I was cute with my, erm. Puppy dog eyes."

"Oh yeah, no, I said that EXPRESSION was cute. You are definitely not cute, Ben." 

"Oh." Ben's smile is totally gone and he feels cold and a bit sick. More than a bit. Shouldn't have said anything, Ben, you idiot. "... Right." 

Tightening his grip on Ben's wrist, the one of the arm around his neck, and rubbing circles on Ben's skin with a thumb, Joe starts moving again, murmuring "...No, you're really friggin hot, actually."

"What?"

"What?" Joe lifts his head, all innocent. "Did you hear something? Dang mockingjays singing again!" he grins and shakes his head as he glances sideways at Ben, whose own smile returns now in full-force if a little bashfully. Joe can hardly stand it. Even sweaty and still mostly grey from rock paint, visible skin pale from pain and loss of blood from his leg, Ben is still incredibly attractive, blond hair glowing in the light, oceanic eyes sparkling. It's enough to take Joe's breath away and stymie him, because seriously what the heck. He swallows hard and looks away, remaining distracted due to Ben's proximity and warmth, and somehow he smells good, has this fresh scent... "Aha!" Joe crows, spotting it, the perfect place for them to go, and thanking his lucky stars for noticing it. Especially now; he could certainly use the distraction.

"What is it, Joe?" Ben asks. "What's with the 'aha', mate?"

"This!" Joe veers off from where they'd been walking with feet dragging in the shallow water, just so Ben's tracks might not be noticed heading this way. So no one will follow, expecting an easy kill because he's injured. Cinching Ben's body tighter to his side, Joe helps him across some sandstone to a place where the layers part and show a little rock fall and the shadowy entrance to a cave that goes back a good bit. "Oh, yes," he bounces happily and crouches, Ben grunting and extending his leg as best he can. "This is awesome. Okay, I think you'll need to sit down and scoot in, Ben, but there's some open space in the back, I think. Here we go." Gently easing Ben down onto his bum at the entrance, Joe crouches and crab walks backwards, hands around Ben's ribcage as Ben grits his teeth and uses his arms and his good leg to move himself into the cave 

Joe is right; though the ceiling is low, they brush against it if they try to move into a position any more upright than sitting-- the entrance widens out and a divot in the ground widens to allow Ben space to stretch out on an angle. A rock shelf exists on the right-hand side of the cave by the mouth, and a tiny vent in the rear allows sunlight to shine in. Just a bit, but it gives the cave airflow, keeps it from being stifling. Ben breathes easy, or as easily as he can with the pain; he shuffles to lie down, stretching his legs with a gasp and remembering "My shirt and stuff," he said. "It's--right alongside my rock fall, kinda tucked under,"

"Yeah I know," Joe's eyes crinkle. "Saw you being an exhibitionist over there. I got it." He unzips his backpack, into which he had stuffed Ben's shirt after seeing it upon initially standing up with him. He does his best to smile, handing the garment over. "Here."

"Thank you," Ben whispers as he accepts the shirt, fingers touching Joe's, and he catches hold of the other's hands. "Seriously, Joe. Thank you for doing this for me."

Joe shrugs. "Ah well what can I say? Can't let you walk around with your shirt off the whole time getting ogled, I'm a jealous guy." Before Ben can decide if he heard that right and whether the other was joking or not, Joe slaps his own knees and says "But I gotta get some water for you to wash off your war paint. That looks kinda itchy, is it?" He reaches out and touches Ben's skin with two fingers.

Ben smiles. "Yeah, it's-- augh!" Agony like a tongue of flame suddenly shoots through his wounded leg and he doubles forward, beads of sweat popping up on his forehead instantaneously. Joe shifts closer as Ben automatically grasped his shirt and dragged him in, responding to the pain.

"Hey Ben, it's okay. Here, squeeze my hand, all right?" Joe's voice is a tad wobbly for an instant but his eyes appear unfazed. Ben latches on to his offered grasp and clutches, shaking. 

"It hurts, oh god it hurts," Ben whimpers, bowing his head with tears in his eyes. He is so ashamed, he hates this, even though it's a legitimate reason to be whimpering like a child. "It--the pain comes in waves, ever since about ...well a few hours after it happened. I wish it would hurt all the time rather than--ahhh!" Ben clutches Joe's hand and closes his eyes, trying not to shout too loudly, because who knows who might be listening. But he's in so much bloody _pain._

He finds his forehead pressed to Joe's neck and shoulder, and the other man's free arm is wrapped around his dirty body, stone paint be damned. "It's okay," Joe soothes, rubbing Ben's shoulder. "It's okay, Ben, I gotcha." He knows not to say he's all right, that they're going to be; he can't do that, has learned, since Rami... Closing his own eyes Joe swallows a sob and holds Ben until his breathing slows down and he loosens his hold on Joe's hand. Does not relinquish it, and Joe feels him shaking and shuddering. "Ben, are you cold?" He asks.

"Y-yeah," Ben replies, eyes piteous. "Prob'ly because I'm n-not wearing a shirt though, right?" He tries to joke. 

Joe smiles. "Yeah, that's it. Til I get water and you can put your shirt on, here." Opening his pack again, Joe pulls out and shakes open his blanket, tucking it around Ben as the blond shifts to lie back on the floor of the cave. 

"Why...why ARE you doing this?" Ben asks in a small voice. "Why're you helping me, Joe?" After what he had done allying himself with the Careers, and ditching during training, and-- "Everything I've done to you here," his voice cracks.

Joe's hands still. _Because-- you're awesome, and I care about you, and I always want to see your eyes looking at me the way they are right now..._ But most important: "You helped me once," he blurts out, voice a trifle strangled as he zips his bag up again and carefully lays it under Ben's head as a makeshift pillow after first withdrawing his knife and canteen for both safety and water-procuring purposes. "And a little help can mean so much. Here you're trying to survive, I get it. That's why you did what you did. But you helped me survive, before. Ya probably don't even remember...,"

Ben shakes his head fiercely. "No, I do. Of course I do." He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw Joe out behind the bakery that day, looking so pale and tired but sweet and hungry and-- "I should have brought you inside," Ben now says, furious at himself. "Should have let you get warm by the fire, or at least walked right up to you and handed you the bread in the rain rather than tossing it, but no. I was a bloody coward!" The blond clenches his jaw and turns his face away in shame.

Joe is taken completely aback. "What-- no, Ben, you weren't a coward at all, you were awesome! You-- you saved my life that day, got me up and going to help my family. You gave me hope." Ben makes a strangled disbelieving sound. "It's true," Mazzello insisted, leaning forward to look into Ben's eyes. "besides, your...your mom was already pissed, if you came out to me...,"

"I still ought to have done it," Ben gasps. "I love you, and when you love someone you do things for them all the time even if you suck at making bread, and can't talk to people or dance at all and--" he's rambling, babbling, pupils huge and dark, facial features sweaty, cords straining in his neck, and Joe puts a hand against his forehead in rising concern. He takes heed of those words as connection to Ben's shift in skin temperature.

"God, Ben, you're getting hot," he says.

Ben cocks his head as though confused, panting a bit. Like a little golden puppy, Joe cannot help but think. Oh, boy. "...Thought y' said I was already hot, Joe."

"True, but I'm talking about your temperature now," Joe flushes just a little as he pushes back the other man's sweaty hair. Ben closes his eyes at the touch, long lashes fluttering on his plump flushed cheeks. Oh, boy. Focus, Joe. "You've got a fever I think. Actually I'm positive, your leg--" he shifts the blanket to look at it, and feels the heat of the skin. Ben lets out a tiny cry as he touches the knee, nowhere near the wound itself, and Joe's chest clenches. He's in so much pain. It hurts to see, and he's reminded of his mother holding his father's hand, and him holding Rami's--no. He can't let Ben go like they did. Joe cannot bear it.

"What's wrong with me, Joe?" Ben wonders. 

"You're fighting off an infection from that wound, I'm pretty sure. I'm getting you water and then-- I don't know, but I'll think of something, okay? We both will. Just hang on." Joe's tone of voice grows desperate, and impulsively he leans in and kisses Ben's flushed cheek. Ben's eyes widen in surprise. Joe is honestly surprised himself. "I'll be right back." He looks at Ben for another lingering moment and then crawls out the entrance of the cave, ducking his head to exit.

***

Joe goes out to the river and fills his bottle up, hearing strange animal sounds from the woods, screeching and screaming. "Glad I'm not in there anymore," Joe mutters. "Sounds like one heck of a party." He hears a human scream then, and the sound of a cannon. The anguished sound reminds him of Rami, puts him back in that little clearing in the woods with his friend's terrified grey eyes, and then his arrow through a throat, that spear through Rami...

Ben wakes up from the slight doze he'd fallen into to hear scrambling at the cave entrance. He recalls it is a cave as he opens his eyes and sees Joe, pale face almost glowing in the low amount of light, eyes stricken and haunted and pained. Ben tries to lift himself up, to ask what happened, but feels so weak and exhausted that he only licks his lips and stretches his arm out for Joe, to pat his shoulder or take his hand. 

Thus Ben is surprised to hear Joe let out a cry and come to him, wrapping his arms around Ben and burying his face into the other's warm chest. Ben's feverish shakes have abated for the moment as Joe wraps arms and legs around him. He realises, and readies himself to let go, but Ben presses on Joe's rising back with one hand and whispers "You're alright, Joe." The expression in Joe's face, grateful and compassionate and broken all at once, makes Ben in his fever throw caution to the winds. He moves his grip from Joe's back to the side of his head and presses a long, lingering kiss to Joe's forehead and another to his cheek. They both move to lie flat and stretch out as much as they can, Joe remembering to carefully drip water on Ben to wash his body paint off, and watches the swirling colours leave his soft skin clean before Joe carefully bathes Ben's face in water as well, doing what he can about the fever. He reaches out to give Ben his shirt, but Ben says "Leave it," and pulls Joe back against his chest, strong bare arms wrapped tightly around him. Maybe it is the fever talking, certainly it makes no logical sense since Joe's looking after HIM right now, but "Easy, Joe," Ben whispers, lips brushing against the other man's hair. "I've got you, mate."

Joe, still shaking a bit with emotion, buries his face against Ben's neck and keeps his arms around him. "Thank you, Ben," he chokes. "And I--I've got you too."

Ben looks at him as Joe tips his face up, and deep voice warm with affection, Ben whispers "I know you do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joe's broken up about Rami but he and Ben are here for each other now and they're so sweet together I might cry
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	19. Running For To Come

Joe wakes sometime later to hear the steady beat of Ben's heart and feel the softness of his skin and the tickling of the fine hair on Ben's bare chest against his cheek. Ben's muscular arms are wrapped around Joe's shoulders, hands linked together at his back, and though sweat stands upon the skin of Ben's face, his skin feels cool next to Joe's. Carefully, moving as silent as he is able, Joe lifts his face and shifts one hand to put the back of his hand to Ben's forehead. He expels a sigh of relief as the skin is no longer scorching to the touch. And then he lets out a tiny sharp sound as he registers that Ben's eyes have fluttered open. "Uh, hi Ben," he says. 

"Hi," Ben whispers, swallowing. His eyes rove over Joe's face and his arms tighten around him for an instant. Joe watches the flush crawl up Ben's cheeks and a look fills his eyes as if he cannot believe Joe is here next to him, holding on. It makes a burst of compassion bubble up in Joe's chest, warring with an intense amount of sadness; it truly sucks that Ben would not believe he is someone that another person would want to be so near or wake up close to.

"How're ya feeling, man?" Joe asks now, rubbing up and down Ben's side with his hand.

"I'm--" Ben swallows, shifts, takes stock. Winces, but his eyes are clearer than before. Much clearer. "I'm alright, yeah. Still in pain, but I don't feel cold anymore."

The skin around Joe's eyes crinkles and his mouth stretches into a gigantic, relieved grin. "That's amazing news, Ben. You don't feel like you have a fever, but we definitely still need to get you some medicine or something." He thinks of something and shifts a bit. "Maybe... I don't know if this'll work, but. I've got some burn ointment that's antiseptic. If I put a bit of that around your wound it might help a little." Joe sits up, Ben's arms dropping from their spot around his shoulders, and he carefully leans past Ben, under his head to unzip the pocket of his pack that holds the burn ointment Roger sent. He ends up with his face less than an inch away from Ben's, and sees Ben's eyes widen and travel over Joe's face, his eyes, nose, cheeks, and lips. Ben wets his own lips and then inhales sharply through his nose. Joe finds the small container and withdraws it, sitting up. 

Ben feels a twinge in his chest as his head tilts forward, and he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. clearing his throat before shakily tugging his shirt over his head. "Did you say-- did Roger send you that?" the blond inquires quietly as Joe opens the lid and dips his fingers into the ointment. Ben obediently pulls the material of his pants apart enough for Joe to reach the edges of the wound. 

"Yep, he did," Joe nodded, reaching down and gently rubbing the ointment on Ben's skin. Ben gasps and shuts his eyes, and Joe sees pus and blood oozing out of the cut as he swirls his fingers, trying to rub as much ointment as he can without causing undue amounts of pain. He looks up at Ben, whose eyes are now closed and who is biting his lower lip until it beads with blood. "Sent it down the night after I got burned, when I was in the tracker jacker tree." Joe withdraws his fingers from the skin around Ben's wound and asks "Has he given you anything?" 

Ben's eyes open again and he tucks his chin. A piece of light hair falls over his forehead as he shakes his head. "Nope," his deep voice is rough. Why Roger wouldn't help him, Ben doesn't know. Maybe he's too pathetic, maybe Roger's written him off, maybe-- 

His self-doubting thoughts are cut off by Joe putting the salve back in his pack and then telling him "Well I'm here to help ya, and he can work with both of us now. Should be easier for sure," Joe laughs. "You know he's gonna be so pumped about the possibilities for sponsors. If we win maybe we can start that Tribute Chique fashion line after all."

Ben chuckles. Good ol' Joe and his jokes. Lighthearted at the best possible times. Ben remains both astounded and impressed by that. "Yeah, and Brian could help us," he enthuses. 

"Oh definitely. He'll make all the greatest designs for us to wear, and everybody will be swooning over you."

Ben shoots Joe a shy smile. "That--doesn't matter so much to me," he says softly. "I only want one person to swoon. I--I mean, not actually, nobody needs to legitimately pass out, I..."

"Benny," Joe puts a hand on the other man's shoulder, gaze warm and voice gentle. "I got what you meant there, buddy. Easy. Besides, have you SEEN you?" He waggles his eyebrows and fans himself now cheekily. "I'd definitely be swooning."

***

Joe heads out for more water and to see if he can shoot some food for them soon. He knows Ben needs to eat, though if he is still in so much pain, he might need something easy on the stomach. Which is not squirrel meat--that's tough, gamey, greasy. Joe is peering into the river to try spotting fish, wondering if he can shoot one with his bow (that would almost certainly be frowned upon in District Four, sorry Gwil), when he hears another beeping sound. A sponsor parachute. 

This one holds a large container, about half the size of his head, and he hopes it might be medicine for Ben's leg, at least til he feels the warmth within upon catching it. "Soup," Joe says aloud, stomach grumbling. He's a little disappointed that it's not medicine, but soup will definitely do as an easy-on-the-stomach meal for Ben. Attached to the covered bowl is another note from Roger.

_ **Alright, you ought to do more than SOLELY keep yourselves alive with this. Don't force me to find a way to send you lads a candlelight supper. Up the ante already! ~ Roger** _

Anything but subtle is their mentor. Joe puts the note away and shakes his head, laughing a little as he imagines Brian's gentle presence trying to soothe Roger, who of course would be sighing dramatically about how ridiculous they are. Need to do what they've got to do, and also keep the viewers interested. Slinging his bow back over his shoulder, he carries the gift back into the cave and ducks his head whilst he crawls forward. "Honey, I'm home!" Joe chirps in a sing-song cheery manner. "And I even brought us dinner."

"Ooh," Ben's features appear drawn and a trifle pallid from pain, but he appears genuinely excited as he lifts his tufty head. "What is it?"

"Soup," Joe crawls over, unscrewing the top of the bowl with a flourish, finding the spoon that has been attached to the inside of the lid. "_Hot_ soup," he continues as he stops next to Ben, scooping some of the broth into the spoon and blowing on it. "Here, lemme tempt ya." Ben smiles and leans forward as much as he can, opening his mouth for the spoon. Plump lips close around it as he swallows, the muscles in his jaw and throat working. Joe almost has a sheer heart attack. He clears his throat and draws the spoon back as Ben lets go of it. "Any good?"

"Yeah," Ben licks and then smacks his lips, eyes catching Joe's. "Scrumptious." Shadows of the cave dance across his face as he smiles, accentuating his slightly-crooked nose and the fullness of his cheeks. Joe has no idea what he's doing, it is as though his brain catches fire. But when Ben's deep voice asks "D'you want to taste some, Joe?"

Joe returns "Oh, I want to taste SOMETHING--" and he moves in, kissing Ben directly on the mouth.

Ben's body jerks and his eyes grow wide. Joe's lips feel lovely on his and he shifts the soup bowl out of the way with shaking hands. His heart is pounding and he lifts his hands now to thread his fingers through Joe's hair as he kisses him back, hard. Oh, he's so happy, over the moon--he cannot believe this is happening. Joe gasps as Ben's lips move with his to continue the kiss and deepen it. He feels as though he could burst like a bubble. Light fills his entire body. He feels Ben's hands in his hair, clutching his head tightly, and his hands are gripping fistfuls of Ben's shirt as their lips fit perfectly together, plump and narrow, soft and strong.

At last they break apart, Ben gasping just a bit. "Well, uh," Joe swallows, swiping his thumb across his lips and blinking. "That was some pretty darn good soup."

His heart pounding, Ben's voice breaks roughly. "I--you're telling me," he picks up the bowl. "Just in case, I think we ought to try some more." Joe's eyes brighten as Ben tips up the bowl and drinks before looking at Joe again. "You... want another taste?"

"Ooh, saucy Ben," Joe beams, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eye. "That's new." Ben freezes for an instant, but Joe immediately puts his mind at ease as he assures "I like saucy Ben. So definitely, fill 'er up!" He leans in and kisses Ben again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay initially there was gonna be some more angst/sadness in this chapter, but I just couldn't do it. I needed these sweet dorks to kiss first. Joe got a little push from Roger to do something with Ben he'd been wanting (dare I say planning?) to do anyway ;P 
> 
> I hope you liked this bit of brightness, because the next chapter is going to get heavy again...
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	20. ...Running For To Come Out Of The Rain

The night passes by with cuddles and murmured conversations. Tiny bits of wood and dried moss are placed into the empty soup tureen and lit so as to make a little lamp in the cave. It lends a softness, a comfortable atmosphere that helps Joe open up a bit, talk to Ben about Rami, about how great it was to be his ally, to get to know him as a friend. Keeps the sorrow at bay. Well, that as well as the fact that Ben has wrapped his warm strong arm around Joe's shoulders. "His twin brother sounds hilarious," Joe says. "Rami said Sami'd want these to be the Kissing Games, and first tribute to make out with everyone else wins." 

Ben's eyebrows rise almost into his hair. "Is that what made you kiss me, then, mate? Testing the idea out?"

Joe gasps "What, no! Of course not, Ben, how could you THINK that?! You wound me!" Ben gazes at him in silence and Joe adds "...Okay, that conversation might've brought up the fact I thought you'd be a good kisser. And for the record, I was right!" He lifts his face to speak the final phrase into the air. _Take that, naysayers!_ Feels Ben begin shaking next to him and instantly worries "Whoah, what's wrong, Ben? Are you cold again?" 

Ben is shaking not with a chill but with suppressed laughter. His smothered laughs turn into legitimate ones, and then he is giggling, tears of mirth filling his eyes. "Oh, Joe, I'm just imagining-- when you mentioned this while talking to Rami, all the television producers must've perked up--and now they'll be so disappointed."

Joe starts grinning now too. "Mike Myers is probably crying, I bet he wanted to announce for the show. 'this is NOT just for funsies anymore, ladies and gentlefolk--the kissing is real!!'" With a surprisingly good accented vocal impression Joe imitates the pompous interviewer and Ben bursts into laughter again.

Joe's entire face brightens as he sees Ben's smile and hears his laugh. Those young-looking features appear so different when light-hearted, there is a strength and contentment to Ben, even in his still-obvious pain, even in this crappy situation. He is carefree in the midst of laughter and Joe is smiling so hard in response that his face hurts. "Ah, Joe," Ben gasps at last, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, "Thank you. I needed that."

"You're welcome, my friend," Joe says warmly. Ben's eyes rove over his face and he licks his lips and reaches out, patting the side of Joe's head. 

Movement of Ben's tongue across his lips makes Joe notice how dry they are, and though his fever has broken, the springiness of Ben's skin is not pronounced. "You need more water," Joe says, and he crawls out of the cave as the sound of rain begins. Letting out a shriek that Ben chuckles at, Joe charges into the deluge that turns out not to be one of rainwater.

Ben's body clenches and he rises upright, heart pounding and hand going to the spear Joe left as he hears more shrieking, sounding fearful this time. Sees the shape of a person, dark, not pale like Joe at all, scrabbling at the cave entrance and ramming into the side. "Benny, it's me," a strangled voice, Joe's, is expelled as he lifts his hand to wipe his eyes. Ben sees the redness, bright, covering his face in its entirety, dripping from his chin. Ben's guts feel like they've been gripped so tight as to practically explode with his intense burst of fear. Blood. 

"God, Joe, is that-- what happened?" He's pulling Joe in, not caring about wrenching his wounded leg, though of course he starts sweating from agony as he moves, but Ben just wants to feel Joe's skin, know he's all right. That is a lot of blood.

"Don't worry, Ben, it's not mine," Joe promises, shifting under the drenched cloth of his clothes, wrinkling his nose. He grabs one of the large leaves he'd brought in earlier in some crazy thought to bandage Ben's leg without any way to keep the leaves in place once he'd done it, so yeah. That idea had been scrapped. But he's got some makeshift wipes now, and does his best to get blood off his face and arms and hands and hair. "It's--ugh, it's raining blood out there." It was COLD blood too, like someone thought it would be a stellar decision to pour an opaque icy deluge down from the sky and use blood to scar the tributes who were outside. Joe doesn't know what kind of person would think to come up with that, but whatever the reason for it, he is shivering and he is livid.

Joe shifts his shoulders back and forth under the clingy, saturated fabric of his shirt, wrinkling his face. "This, this is super gross. I mean why, who sits down and decides: you know what would be an awesome idea--if we forced a bunch of people to bathe in blood for an hour for...for no REASON. Gamemakers, obviously," he answers his own question. "But is this fun?" Joe bawls out as he flings both arms wide, sitting abruptly on the cave floor and ramming his knuckles into the wall because he hasn't room enough to stretch out completely. He scoffs, smothering a yelp. "I really hope it's fun for _some_body because I for one am not laughing." He balls a fist and pounds the cave floor a couple of times in frustration.

Ben watches and listens, wishing to help somehow; he has felt the same level of frustration Joe is feeling now, wishes desperately that he could do something about it. "I want to do something," he tells Joe fervently. "What, I don't know. But this can't go on."

"... Something's gotta give," Joe responds, nodding. "I agree with ya, buddy. Right now it's the rain. Ooh!" He shivers violently and Ben knows he's got to get out of those freezing blood-clotted clothes. For his health and because that's certainly got to feel gross.

The blond tribute swallows, hoping Joe won't take this the wrong way, but "Joe," he whispers. Joe looks at him and Ben clears his throat, speaking louder. "You... I think you may want to get out of those clothes, mate. Get yourself warm." As Joe looks at him with an eyebrow rising, Ben bumbles "I--I'm not saying, I mean. It's not like I want you to erm. Get naked, or anything. I'll turn away, won't look. But, here." He picks up Joe's blanket and holds it out, ducking his head, flustered. "At least use this."

"Hey, Ben," Joe says to him, kicking off his squelching shoes and working on his tshirt "it's okay, I don't mind. Getting warm is probably a good idea." His torso is shaking now as he hauled the saturated shirt over his head, smears of blood lining his arms and neck before he makes a face and flails to get his pants off his legs, as they are clinging to his skin. Joe takes the blanket and wraps it around himself, still shuddering, and shuffles towards the entrance to lay out his clothes and wipe the blood off with more leaves. "Ya can raise your innocent eyes now," he quips, grinning, and Ben looks over at him. Joe's huddled down against the wall of the cave, head and just a strip of his pale shoulders exposed. Ben shuffles to lie back down, now beside him, and tries not to stare. Doesn't know if Joe feels comfortable moving closer for warmth, even though he fell ASLEEP on you already, Ben, come on--but the other solves the quandary of to ask or not to ask by shifting over and inquiring himself: "Is it cool if I cuddle with ya?"

His heart pounding, Ben swallows hard. Wonders if Joe can hear it. "Of--of course," he manages, voice wrecked, a croak. Maybe Joe will just think he's tired, or that his leg wound is hurting again. But Joe smiles as Ben raises one arm to allow the other man to lie against the side of his chest, and Joe reaches one chilly bare arm across Ben's midriff, feeling his muscles twitch with surprise and then settle. 

"Thanks," Joe says, his head resting on the fleshy place between Ben's pectoral muscle and his shoulder, almost in his armpit. "G'night Benny."

Curling around a little as he feels Joe shiver, Ben rests his cheek against the other man's hair, feeling it scratch a bit as it has dried in strange curving spikes from the bloody rain. Moving his uninjured leg over Joe's bundled ones to help him get warm, Ben rests his chin on Joe's hair instead. Joe sighs gratefully. "Of course," Ben murmurs. "Sleep well Joe."

***

Joe wakes to feel warm and well-rested, and to find his head once again pillowed upon Ben's chest. He tilts his face up as he feels Ben's body tense, and realises a sound has triggered that tenseness. Ben's hand tightens around Joe's shoulder as a booming voice speaks.

"ATTENTION TRIBUTES. AS OF SUNRISE THERE WILL BE A FEAST. EACH OF YOU NEEDS SOMETHING DESPERATELY TO SURVIVE. YOU MUST COME TO THE HORN OF PLENTY TO COLLECT YOUR FARE. HAPPY EATING AND MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOUR."

Soon as the last echoes are gone, Ben and Joe look at each other. Ben says "It's a bloodbath--"

As Joe speaks "They'll have medicine for your leg. That's what we need."

"No, Joe, don't even think about it, mate--they're drawing us, well one of us there so it'll be like the beginning all over again, that first fight at the Horn. Not to mention what if that, that lightning strikes again, or more blood rains down? What'll you do?"

"Well I'll just have to be really quick grabbing your medicine," Joe jokes. "Faster than lightning and whatever else there is."

Ben is not joking now. "I'm serious, Joe. You can't risk yourself like this for me. I'm not worth-- I won't let you." He grabs onto the other's arm as Joe physically starts to move, to go for his clothes which have dried by this time. 

Ben's grip is like iron despite everything, and Joe goes still. He feels his heart speeding up as he speaks, voice growing frantic and garbled "Ben, you've gotta let me go, please. I can do this for you. I'll be careful, shoot first and ask questions later, I'll-- I'll even leave you the spear to keep yourself alive and safe, but I've got to do this. I've got to." 

"Why, Joe?" Ben's voice is cracking. Joe means so much to him, he can't bear the thought of sending him out to die, because he remembers Joe saying what would happen if he were to get jumped, and Ben won't even be able to help.

But Joe stares at him, expression broken, and Ben's heart clenches painfully as his fellow tribute practically screams "I can't watch someone else die in front of me, Ben! I saw my father, I watched Rami, and I can't--I won't lose you too. Not if I can prevent it, Ben. And I can do this, get your medicine and keep you alive. I will." Joe pulls himself free from Ben's now weakened grasp and kisses his cheek. "Please let me do this, okay?" His voice wobbles even as he tries to shoot Ben a reassuring smile. "Don't stop me now." Joe shifts the spear over and picks up his clothes, slipping into his shoes. The blood has dried into a brown crust, and he figures that can probably work as camoflauge. 

As he pulls his pants up pale legs and ducks into his shirt again, Ben's eyes follow the movements. He knows Joe feels he needs to do this. But oh god, Ben is getting the horrible, helpless feeling that he is sending Joe Mazzello to his death by not arguing against him going anymore; not forcing him to stay somehow. But he can't, and does not want to. He doesn't want to tie Joe down. 

Joe slings his bow across his back and gives Ben a thumbs up, and his fellow tribute smiles, or tries to, as he exits the cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well the feast is happening, and I've included another bit from the Quarter Quell because despite grossness, I had to (mostly for the wordplay of this chapter's title ;P ). Also Joe isn't pulling a Katniss and sneaking out on Ben while he's sleeping fitfully because no. That's not cool in the relationship they've got
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	21. Too Late, All The Wretches Run

Joe pounds swiftly through the forest, moving along the river first and up into the trees, back to the central clearing, and he stops. His ears ring from the remembered explosion first; he recalls the blood and dirt blown sky-high, and then remembers that other explosion he created, hears Rami's anguished cries again, sees the spear piece his innards. He sees his father, slumped, in the house unable to even muster enough strength to raise his arms above his head. Joe is shaking, falling to his knees at the edge of the clearing, vision blurring now though he'd seen parcels around the Horn of Plenty first, numbers of districts emblazoned on their sides.

Joe presses his hands into the dirt and grass, and his eyes fasten on a tiny flower in front of his knees. A burst of colour in this horrible place, bright as the flowers his father always used to bring home, bright as the smile his mother gave her husband when she slipped into his weak arms and kissed his cheek. Bright as Rami's kind grey eyes, as John's laugh, Mary's hugs, and the touch of Ben's lips. Joe breathes and his shakes lessen, his eyes clear. He rolls his shoulders, lets himself settle. He can do this. He has to do this. He is going to do this for Ben, for himself, and for his family. Joe gets up and sees a tribute from Eight, he thinks, dart out of the trees on the opposite side of the clearing, grab their bag and run. He whistles in admiration as he spots the bag with the number Twelve on it. Pulls his bow off his back just in case, and runs. Charges and is almost to the pack when he hears a sound off to his side and turns in time to spy the silvery metallic glint of a knife flying through the air.

Not quick enough to raise his pack to block this time, Joe feels the blade slice into his eyebrow before a gout of red covers his eye--crap, not blood again--and he is tackled by a lithe form. The Career girl Ben had talked to. "Oh," she singsongs as she straddles him, sharp knees going into his upper arms and elbows so he cannot lift himself to dislodge her. She puts her body's weight on his torso. Joe kicks ineffectually as her eyes slowly, deliberately move from his straining, bleeding face to the bag. "...You're getting this for Pretty Boy, right? Think you can save his life after the wound we gave him? Ah, that's adorable. You couldn't even save your little friend from us. Bug Eyes. What was his name...?" Joe makes a furious movement, a twist, but all her weight remains on top of him and one of his legs is caught into a position that grows painful when she presses down. 

She twists her knife and brings it to his face again. Joe winces as he feels the heaviness of a slice and then more warm wetness spreading down his cheek. Great, even MORE blood. "Rami," Joe gets out, wishing his friend was still here.

"Rami, that's right! Good. Well this has been fun, but now I'm going to gut you like a fish and go find Pretty Boy, talk about our alliance. Or maybe I'll just let him die slowly--" her threats are cut off as she moves the tip of her knife to touch Joe's exposed breastbone, and then out of nowhere she is jerked backwards off of Joe and a hand is around her throat.

"Is that true?!" A lilting voice yells at her. "YOU killed Rami? You killed him!"

"No, no it wasn't me!" She screeches, panicking, choking and trying to get away as Joe recognises Rami's friend Allen, his eyes wild and cheeks red. He is spitting and squeezing, furious. Her eyes are bulging, face going red and then purple before he drops her to the ground again. Joe's scrabbling back, unsure what to do as Allen's eyes latch onto his, and then the girl is up again, somehow still alive. Joe wobbles to his feet.

"Joe, duck," he hears before a three-pronged spear, a trident, flies past him and strikes the girl in her neck, sternum, and diaphragm. The uppermost tip passes through her windpipe completely and she makes a gargling noise as blood spurts out of the wound and out of her mouth before she falls. A cannon booms, its abrupt loudness making Joe screech.

Allen snatches up his bag along with hers, locks eyes with Joe again, and says "For Rami," before he takes off running in the opposite direction and disappears.

***

Joe's heart is thudding madly and his head continues to bleed as he turns to see a pair of long legs stride past him to jerk the trident out of the body of the Career girl. "She oughtn't have said she was going to gut you like a fish," the same voice that told Joe to duck says, and then there are a series of heaves as its owner's dark head lowers and is sick on the ground.

Oh, Gwil. Joe is moving and patting the tall man on the back even as he glances around nervously. "Hey Gwil," he speaks softly. "Thanks for the assist, man. I uh, think we oughta get moving."

Gwilym nods, trying to smile as he spits and wipes his mouth, standing straight again. He clutches the haft of his trident as his light blue gaze meets Joe's hazel-brown one. "Hi Joe, I agree. Let's get out of here." Picking up his District Four bag, he slings it over his shoulder and studies Joe's face, looking closer this time, squinting in concern. "Mate, you're bleeding."

"I'll be fine," Joe demurs, shaking droplets of blood out of his eyes. "Just gotta get this back to Ben." Gwilym nods, eyes crinkling with understanding, and then he swiftly lifts one arm and rips the edge of his sleeve with his teeth, pulling off a long swathe that he then wraps and knots around Joe's forehead to sop up at least some of the blood. 

"There, that'll keep, help ya stay fine," Gwil says briskly, patting Joe's shoulder. 

Mazzello swallows and looks up at Gwil before running into his chest for a hug. Gwil's body jerks but he automatically hugs back, looping his long arms around Joe's torso and rubbing his hand up and down the shorter man's vertebrae. His beard tickles Joe's forehead briefly as he bends his face down, and then they break apart to actually start moving, in sync and in-step. 

"I advised Lucy to head down near the river, figure we can do something useful there, you know?"

"Yeah," Joe pauses, thinking rapidly. He wants desperately to trust Gwil, and Lucy too, but he doesn't want to lose anyone else. He has to get to Ben, focus on that first. Starts moving faster, Gwilym extending his long legs to keep up. Joe plans to break away once they get to the escarpment, before reaching the riverbank, but when they break out of the trees, Gwil points. 

"There's Lucy, and--oh no," his chin juts out, eyes squinting again, and he's off into a sprint, breaking away from Joe. Who speeds up on his own as he slings his bow onto his back again, feeling it bump as he clutches the backpack to his chest, spotting an immobile form beside Lucy. He pulls his bow free and nocks an arrow, aiming directly at her.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!?" Joe bellows. Lucy's stricken face rises, as do her hands.

"I-I saw him dragging himself with the--with that spear, and he got to the barrier, the shiny--"

"Force field," Joe gasps, recognising the sight and crackling electrical evidence.

"Yes," Lucy sniffles. "He hit it with the metal spearhead and went down."

Joe flies to Ben's side, for that is who it is, of course, and rolls him over. "Ben? Hey, Ben--he's not breathing," Joe gasps for air, seeing Ben's pale face, half-opened eyes, feeling no puff of breath, no heartbeat. "He's--he's not--!" Gwilym shoves past and grabs onto Ben, moving him to lie flat on his back on the ground and bending over him. Joe automatically pulls back the string of his bow again as he sees Gwil leaning down and fastening his lips to Ben's. What in the hell? The tall man lifts his mouth and then puts it on Ben's again before moving down his chest, lacing both long hands together, arms straight as he strikes atop Ben's heart straight down. Cupped laced hands coming down with enough strength, force, and weight to make Ben's whole body shake.

Counting off to thirty, "Come on, Ben," Gwil mutters as he pumps the blond's chest. "Stay with me here." He ducks to check for breaths before locking his lips on Ben's again, twice more, blowing air into his mouth and throat and lungs before counting out thirty more chest compressions. "Come on."

As time stretches out from seconds into minutes, Lucy stands back with her hands clasped before her face. She counts compressions with Gwil as her eyes fill with tears of sympathetic worry on Ben's behalf. Joe is shaking again, on his knees next to Ben, feeling the black cloud of despair falling over him; here it is, it's happening again, he's going to watch someone else-- and then a weak sucking in of air, a gasp precedes Ben's chest lifting at last. Breathing resumes. "Ben!" Joe cries, lunging over and hugging him tight as Gwil retreats, breathing hard. "Oh my god, buddy, hey!"

"...Hi Joe," Ben whispers hoarsely, sagging into Joe's embrace. "I think I might've ...overdone it a bit just now."

Joe laughs. He cannot help it. "Ah, Benny, come on. You're gonna be all right, I've got your medicine. Y'wanna sit up?" Ben nods and shifts with a groan as Joe relinquishes him from the hug and puts an arm around his shoulders instead.

As Joe is handed his pack, which he'd dropped, Ben's eyes rise to spot the other figures standing by. "Oh, Gwil," he says, low voice startled. "Hi. Hey, Lucy."

Lucy smiles in relieved greeting as Gwil nods, his blue eyes settling warmly on Ben. "Cheers, Ben," he says back just as quietly. Joe is taking out the leg medication and Lucy comes over to help him figure out what to do with it--not just a simple salve this time. Ben's gaze lifts to Gwilym's again in confusion. When did this all happen? Gwil pats him on the shoulder and smiles. "I'm really happy we found you. I was on the way back from the, er, Feast. Walked with Joe."

"Yeah, alright." Ben remains puzzled by this extraordinary chain of events but is not upset by it as Joe and Lucy minister to his leg and then Gwil's long body is beside him, helping him to his feet with Joe's help. Ben feels his ribs twinging as he moves and breathes deep, but at least he is breathing. He's grateful for that. They all head back to the cave, and Ben asks of Gwil and Lucy "Erm, are you both--?" He doesn't know how to finish his question, but Joe jumps in. 

"Do you guys have a camp set up somewhere, uh, near here?" Joe asks, glancing at Ben, who nods gratefully at him. "Because I mean. This is nuts, but I think the cave's big enough, I don't wanna--"

"I think we're on the same side," Ben speaks quietly, shifting to sit and scoot himself into the cave, biting his lip as the movement jostles his leg. The medical treatment has made it feel less puffy, less hot already, thank god. Gwil crouches in front of him as does Lucy, and the blond tribute from District Twelve continues "...I mean, you lot just saved my life. Thank you, by the way." Joe nods in vehement agreement, squeezing Ben's hand. Gwil nods back and pats Ben's knee as Lucy beams. "So, I mean. If you want to stay round with us," he sweeps his free hand around at the interior of the cave. "You can."

"We're also close to the river as ya can tell," Joe adds. "Since you said being over here might be a good idea for you, Gwil."

Gwil looks to Lucy, who squeezes his arm. "I...don't know what's going to happen during the rest of these bloody Games," Gwilym speaks slowly. "But I don't want to hurt anyone else I don't have to." His light gaze appears broken as he ducks his head, crouching even lower, bending his long body forward in the limited space of the cave, into which they have all crawled to speak. "And I like you lads," he adds fiercely, eyes rising to catch both Joe's and Ben's. "I want us to be friends."

"I do too, so much," Lucy smiles sweetly, even as her voice breaks. She runs a pinkie underneath one eye to stop tears that threaten. "You're all so lovely, and Rami is--was too." Joe makes a slight sound as Lucy speaks Rami's name. He really ought to tell her what Rami said about giving her flowers.... He swallows hard and Ben wraps an arm around him as Lucy continues: "But anyway, I'd love for us to be allies. Friends. Look after each other here and everything."

"Seems like we're off to a good start," Joe cracks. "Gwil's already saved my life AND Ben's life." Ben's eyes widen at that and he looks sharply from Joe to Gwil, the latter inclining his head politely.

"Well, then, cheers," Ben intones.

"I'm chuffed," Gwil beams, putting out both hands to Ben and Joe, who take them. With a squeeze he relinquishes his grip and says "So, cue me getting us some fish to eat, right? And keep watch." He leans his head in and then shuffles around, trying desperately not to jab limbs into anybody's face as he does his best to exit the cave. "Oops, oof, sorry, there we are." He pulls himself out of the cave mouth and Lucy moves to stay at the entrance for a bit, leaving Ben and Joe to look at each other and Ben to grab at Joe's head as he truly notices the excess of coagulate gore, which is soaking and dripping through the strip of Gwil's dark blue shirt still tied around his forehead.

"Joe, you're bleeding like a stuck pig. My god." Ben carefully pulls the cloth away from Joe's skin. "A knife?" he asks. Joe nods, hissing a little in pain even as he tries to smile at Ben. "Oh, Joe. This is because you got the medicine for me. If you hadn't--"

"If I didn't you'd be dead _twice_, Ben," Joe blurts. Ben's forehead wrinkles and he cocks his face, looking like a little golden puppy. It's adorable, but Joe does his best to focus. "I mean from your leg and also from having your HEART STOP BECAUSE YOU RAN INTO THE FORCE FIELD. If I hadn't gone to the feast, Gwil wouldn't have come back with me to save your life, and I can't lose you, Ben. I can't." Joe is sniffling now as he grasps Ben's shirt.

Ben puts his hand to Joe's head, fingers running through the other's dark hair as he begins blinking rapidly in his own turn. "Joe, mate, it's alright. I'm still here. I'm sorry. Let me clean up your cut, okay?" He feels Joe shaking and is floored. He had no idea the guy cared about him this much. 

But Joe dives into Ben's chest and presses his sound cheek to it, murmuring "I need you, Ben. You're my best friend." It seems crazy to say it, they've only known each other well for about two weeks or so, but he remembers it all now, and he wants to keep getting to know Ben better and in this place, in everything that is happening, yes, Ben Jones is his best friend.

Ben's heart performs a heavy thump, a leap as he holds onto Joe tightly, pressing his face into the other man's hair. "Thank you, Joe," he whispers, heart full. "You're my--" his best mate too, though Gwil is a candidate for friendship now, and Lucy as well, odd as that seems. But this is an odd situation. Yet Joe... Joe is something else. Something more. "You're my only." Only friend, love, family here in this awful place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well the feast was a short one, but plenty happened therein!
> 
> *Yes, I made Ben's Career friend a jerk, I mean. She was just after him for what she needed and she's pretty bloodthirsty, a la Clove in the book and movie.
> 
> *You might be able to see some similarities between Gwil and Finnick, especially with the CPR scene. But Gwil has a lot sweeter exterior than Finnick began with, bless him. I love Finnick though, so much
> 
> *Ben is a romantic bastard, I about gagged at that last line he said to Joe, but I'm leaving it in. What do you think? Is it too sappy? 
> 
> I'm taking a bit to write out the rest of this, as of now there will be two more chapters set in the Arena. Hope you're enjoying still, and thank you for sticking with me. Comments appreciated <3


	22. He Told of Death as a Bone-White Haze

It is a wonderful feeling to have allies. Real ones, as Ben is finding out. Again, as Joe thinks. Gwilym's fish are delicious, seared to perfection over a little fire a ways downstream so the scent of frying fish does not bring any of the other tributes still alive howling up to the cave, out for blood.

Once they eat and Joe has ointment on his facial knife wounds, he takes himself and his clothes to the river after scattering the remains of their fire, trying to scrub at least some of the dried blood away. "Try using some rocks, like these," Lucy says. She'd helped him get rid of the evidence of their fire as Gwil helped Ben back to the cave. The blonde girl crouches next to Joe and reaches into the stream, pulling up two smooth stones that she offers to him with a smile, warmth in her eyes and expression. 

The way sunlight shines off the water, the stones, and her eyes causes Joe's heart to lurch. "Thanks, Lucy," he says with a gulp as he accepts them, lifting the stones in a salute before stroking the rock down his shirt, watching the cloth bunch and wiggle. He lets out a sharp sound and Lucy chuckles.

"Hang on, Joe, try moving it like this--small circles." She drops some grit onto the cloth of his shirt and takes one stone, dunking the garment into the water after rubbing circles and asking "See there?" as a cloud of rusty red rises out of the shirt and is washed away. 

Joe crows in excitement, grabbing her in an exuberant embrace before he stops to think about it. Brian is going to be so psyched he hadn't stained his outfit. "Wow, that's awesome, Lucy! Thank you."

"Anytime, Joe," she smiles, leaning into his hug briefly before offering the shirt and rock back to him.

Joe accepts them and bends to work the rest of the blood free, his hands beginning to tremble a little as he does so. "Lucy, I wanna clear the air," he speaks to her slowly, glancing sideways. "I was--allied with Rami, before he...when he died."

"...Oh," Lucy's voice is a soft squeak.

"And he told me," Joe sniffles, blinking hard as he gets emotional all over again, recalling Rami's words, seeing him.... "He said--he wanted you to know that he was sorry, because he really wanted to bring you flowers one day." Joe's voice grows squeaky now too, wobbling more and more until the last. "He wanted me to tell you that." He and Lucy are both in tears as Joe pulls his now-clean shirt out of the drink and drapes it across some rocks onshore. He turns to take Lucy by the hands, in case she is not up for another hug in all the emotion, but Lucy throws her arms around his neck and holds on tight, shuddering.

"Oh, Joe, thank you for telling me that," she whispers at last as they hold onto each other, sobbing. Eventually Lucy pulls away a little to wipe her eyes. "Sweet Rami."

"He's--he was the sweetest." Joe nods rapidly, lips trembling. "I wish he was here."

"...If only I'd gotten the chance to know him better," she adds, eyes full of wistfulness and pain. "Oh, I would've loved to."

Oh, god. Joe chokes a bit on that wish, on his own; on thoughts of where they are, what they are doing here, and Ben... he swallows hard as he takes his next piece of clothing to wash and nods again, pressing her hand sadly. "Me too."

***

Ben is lying curled up slightly at the entrance to the cave. Gwil had helped him walk back after supper, and is now clearing refuse from his catching and gutting of the fish, washing and drying his trident as the two of them wait for Joe and Lucy to return. Ben shifts his legs a little and grunts in discomfort, though not agony like the sort he experienced before. It is already abundantly clear to him how much the medication Joe brought is helping.

Gwilym looks over as he hears Ben make a sound, blue eyes warm and openly concerned: "Ben, you alright, mate?" He inquires. "How's the leg?" Wiping his hands he lopes across the rocky ground to the cave entrance, putting down his trident and catching Ben's shoulder with one long hand. Gwil holds on to him in such a secure and gentle way, speaking and acting so compassionately, that the District Twelve tribute feels as though he might burst into tears. Right, okay, deep breaths Ben. You don't need to suffer an emotional meltdown every single time someone is kind to you.

The blond does his best to smile at Gwil. "Yeah, I'm good. Leg's doing good. Better for the fish, hot damn but you can cook."

Gwil inclines his head in gracious thanks, a slight blush colouring his high cheekbones. "Now all we need is one of your fantastic cakes," he returns. "I admit I've been salivating over the idea of having one ever since you told me about your baking, and Joe said you were the cake baker extraordinaire." Ben flushes now at the other's compliments. "They sound absolutely scrumptious."

"Well, cheers. I do alright baking at home," Ben sincerely tries to accept the compliment.

Gwil nods to him, squeezing his shoulder. "Yes, I heard from Joe that lots of people enjoy your cakes. He's impressed by the frosting of course, says it's sexy," Gwil lets out a laugh. Ben chuckles a bit in return. "But it's not just the frosting, it's the whole thing. He seems to think you're the entire package too."

Ben really blushes now, not looking directly at Gwil. "R-really?" His deep voice actually squeaks a little on the word, to his immense embarrassment. "When did he say," _How d'you know this?_ yearns to ask, doesn't want to seem desperate. Ben, come on. "...I'm sure he was joking, because I know I'm not. I'm just a--" The pretty little baker's boy, so fragile and quiet. "--a pretty face." Ben shrugs as Gwil releases him, in agreement, Ben is sure. He tries to shrug offhand. "That's alright, though. I don't mind."

Gwilym's eyebrows go up. Ben is serious right now. He actually believes these things about himself. "Oh, Ben, no. You aren't at all that, mate--not just that, I mean. You're certainly a beautiful man," he smiles, "But you're also funny, and intelligent. And most certainly kind--you actually chatted with me at the Tribute Gala, come on. Most other people would've told me to piss off. A few did, actually. More than a few." Gwil remembers some other more colourful language used and quiets before adding brightly "Why d'you think I ended up by the drink table?" Ben stares at him and then begins laughing. "I'm serious!" Gwil cries. "No one would talk to me! Except you." His light blue gaze twinkles, satisfaction writ all over his angular features as Ben laughs.

"Oh, mate," Ben gasps with mirth, gripping Gwil's arm. "I'm sorry, it's just--the fact you're so upset that nobody talked to you. When you were about to go _into the Hunger Games._"

A slow smile spreads across Gwilym's face. "...Bit of a strange priority, eh?"

"Exactly, yeah!" Tears of joy stand in Ben's eyes as he guffaws once more. "Oh, that's beautiful."

Gwil makes a face and sticks out his tongue. "Alright, laugh it up," he sighs. "At least I've made some friends NOW."

Ben's laughter peters out then. He grows solemn. "But how long can this--can we--our alliance last?" he asks, almost wildly, fingers tightening around Gwil's arm almost involuntarily.

Gwil puts his hand over top of Ben's and squeezes it in reassurance. "Well I'm of the opinion that when we think we're through with life in here and all hope is lost, we've gotta hold out our hands because friends will be friends, Ben. Right--right to the end." The tall dark-haired tribute flips his hand over and extends it. 

Ben takes hold. "Okay, Gwil," he says softly. Those blue eyes stare hard at him.

"Do you believe me?"

The soft, gentle kindness and surety in this man's gaze makes Ben's heart leap, and his assurances, along with Joe's optimism and Lucy's sweetness, all those things are making him hope. Which is frightening, to say the least, but he believes. "I do," he whispers, tightening his hold on Gwil's hand. "...Cheers."

"Cheers," Gwilym replies, and the look on his face and his nearness makes Ben really want to give him a hug. He wonders whether that would be appropriate or not.

"Gwil, can I--" Ben shifts awkwardly and Gwil lets go of his hand, making him feel bereft for an instant. He shuts his eyes. "Can I give you a hug?" He opens them and continues immediately "It's all right if not, I understand, that's probably way too forward and not appropriate in this setting and--"

"Ben, whoah, easy. Deep breaths mate," Gwilym soothes, taking hold of Ben's shoulders and rubbing his hands up and down the blond's muscular forearms. "Need I remind you that the second time we met began with me clamping my mouth on yours?" Ben flushes. The resuscitation, right. "...We practically made out, so I think a hug is alright. In order, actually."

"Okay, _you_ made out with ME," Ben instantly corrects before thinking about it. "I was basically dead."

Gwil freezes, but before the other can apologise he grins. "Fair enough. I'm really glad to've been able to help you keep yourself alive, though, Ben. Really, truly glad." He pulls the shorter man into that hug now, arms wrapping around him. Ben cuddles gratefully into Gwilym's neck and chest as his tall friend, for Gwil is definitely a friend, presses his chin against Ben's hair, rocking a little with him back and forth.

Both men are equally grateful to the other for allowing, accepting this embrace.

***

Time passes. Ben is unclear just how much before Joe's boisterous tone of voice calls "Well I seem to've been replaced! Et tu, Gwilly?" he gasps.

Ben jerks back as Gwilym smiles easily over at Joe when he strolls up to them with Lucy beside him. "No worries on replacing you, mate. I'm positive I could never do that." Something in Gwil's face and voice as he speaks thus makes Ben ache to know what he means. How can Gwilym be so certain of these things, of what he means to Joe, and Joe to him? Well, he's been pretty obvious, Ben answers that internally as Gwil pats him once more on the back and rises to go to Joe and Lucy, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders, Joe's slightly damp but clean clothes be damned. As Lucy leans into him and the District Four tribute feels her trembling, all his focus goes to his fellow tribute. "Oh Lucy girl, what happened? What did Joe do?" he pulls her against his chest and stares over her head at Joe, eyes flashing. He likes him, but if he'd done or said anything to make Lucy get like this--

She shakes her head against him, however, and clutches his shirt. "Nothing but tell me something unbelievably lovely that Rami said to him before he died." Lucy lets out a sob again, shakes her head, blonde tresses whispering back and forth as she attempts to compose herself. "I shouldn't be weepy like this; how awful."

"No, Luce," Her dear friend replies as he holds her tight. "You feel and do whatever you need, alright? I've got you."

He presses a kiss to the top of her head as she buries her face against him, hugging him tightly too. "Thank you, Gwil."

Eventually Lucy dries her tears and Ben does his before they all gather themselves and their weapons to place them in viable places to grab in the cave: "Time for an epic snuggle party, boys and girls!" Joe sings. "Also, to elaborate--holyshit Ben is STANDING on his LEG!" Ben had risen to check his balance and finds his wound is closed up, all the heat and swelling is gone. He's just got a scar, seen through the torn material of his trousers. An enormous, ropy scar, but no pain anymore. Just twinging if he touches it.

Instantly he's tackled in a hug from Joe as Gwil beams. "That's awesome, mate." Lucy kisses his cheek.

"I'm so happy for you, Ben." 

"This calls for a group hug!" Joe announces, and everyone obliges. 

Ben smiles, and though none of the four voice it aloud for fear of tempting fate, for the first time in this Arena, they believe they are going to get through--or at the very least have a solid chance of doing so--the Games all right. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I promised myself this chapter would be a love fest, and I hope I delivered :)
> 
> *I'm still so upset about what I did to Lucy and Rami, guys. They're so cute!
> 
> *Ben remains incredibly insecure, dear sweet boy. But Gwilym knows what's going on, I mean, the way Joe acted when Ben was being given CPR, among other things...
> 
> *Gwilym Lee is a hugger and I love that about him. Also I need him to be the best supportive comforting friend ever for his Lucy girl, because friendships make me soft
> 
> Next chapter should be the last from the Arena, and shit is going DOWN. Hope to see you on the other side! Comments appreciated <3


	23. In Troubled Graves; Of Every Mortal

The quartet of allies curls up together in their cave, Ben along the left wall, Joe beside him, then Lucy with Gwil on the right, stretched out so as to be able to swiftly and easily grab his trident where it rests, haft lying halfway inside the cave entrance.

"In case of any unwanted visitors or hanky panky. Keep your hands to yourself, Joseph." 

Joe pouts. "Aw c'mon, Gwil, what if I wanna snuggle with YOU?" 

"Well…," Gwil's conflicted expression sends Lucy into a gale of giggles. 

"You've done this to yourself, Gwilym Lee. I can't help you."

"Don't look at me, mate," Ben lifts his hands in surrender. "I can't say no to this guy." 

Joe waggles his eyebrows and shoots them all a self-satisfied smile. "I'm amazing like that," he says, smiling in such a sweet manner that even as they all groan at him and tell him not to get a big head, their hearts melt. 

They end up puddled together in a bit of a dog pile, Ben wrapped around Joe's back, one arm under Joe's head, the forehead of which rests against Ben's chest. Lucy pillows her head on Joe's side, between his hip and ribcage, and Gwilym stretches on her other side, left arm thrown across her shoulders and fingers on Ben's forearm, legs wrapped round both Lucy's and Joe's, cuddling up so as to fit in the cave as comfortably as possible. His right arm extends towards the cave mouth where his hand curls loosely around the shaft of his trident. Just in case. 

He is nearly asleep and feeling the comfort of the others' warmth alongside him, listening to their breathing, huffs and snoring that rises and falls. Gwil shakes Ben's arm gently as he realises he is where the loudest snores are coming from.

The tall man snuggles down as he hears the nighttime sounds of the Arena--the whispering wind and the strange lightning strike at midnight. Waking at that moment, Gwilym's eyes flutter closed directly after. His grip on his trident slackens and he sags into Lucy's back.

And that is when the screaming begins.

***

Ben jerks awake, heart hammering madly as he hears agonised shrieking in the distance. Joe shudders next to him, waking as well. All of Gwil's muscles are tense, his eyes trained out of the cave's entrance as he grips his trident with white knuckles. His left hand rests on Lucy's back as she has shifted next to him, curling a little closer as she watches and listens as well. 

"What do you think--?" She starts, worrying her lower lip, unable to complete the question. 

"Those monkeys?" Joe asks, voice wobbly and incredibly soft for him. Ben wraps an arm around his shoulders and Joe leans into his side gratefully. 

"Monkeys?" Gwil echoes.

"It sounded like there were monkeys or something in the forest before," Joe whispers. "We had just found this cave to crash, me and Ben."

"Yeah," Ben adds. "Yeah, you went out for water, and I thought I heard something before you came back-- I remember them now. But Joe…," listening as the screaming continues, feeling his heartbeat crinkle in his ears, the blond gulps. "...I don't think this is the monkeys."

"Then what is it?!" Joe's eyes are wild. 

Ben glances at Gwilym, whose eyes catch his and they both know what the other is thinking. Lucy closes her eyes as Gwil moves his hand from Lucy's back to grip Joe's shoulder. "I'm… I think it might be the beginning of the grand finale, Joe."

"...I was afraid you were going to say that," Ben mumbles.

Joe gulps and closes his eyes for a moment. "Well," his voice squeaks but he tries to steady it and smile at his allies. His friends. "Together we can handle it, right?"

"Right." Gwilym nods at him, light eyes warm. Lucy kisses his cheek and then leans against Gwil as she reaches out and presses Ben's hand. 

Ben grips Lucy's hand back and looks at Joe, filling his eyes with him. This dear, buoyant, excitable, positive man he is in love with. In a split second he leans forward, pressing his lips to the skin of Joe's forehead. Joe's eyes close as Ben moves back and smiles. "We'll be good, mate," he utters, low voice sure. "I know that I will be because of you."

Joe beams at him, hazel eyes crinkling. "Awww Benny, that's so sweet I'm either gonna barf or get a cavity, I don't know which." Ben blinks, but before he can respond Joe moves in and kisses his round cheek to let the other know that he truly appreciates what Ben said. "All right, let's go rock 'em!" Joe screeches, as the sounds of screams have morphed into movement that sounds like pounding, galloping feet, and it seems to be heading their way. 

Gwil is up and out of the cave first, holding up his trident menacingly and pulling Lucy to her feet. He tosses the spear to Ben as the blond stands up, and Joe pulls on his backpack and checks the string of his bow before offering Lucy his knife. "Here, you gotta have something to protect yourself," he tells her. Wants to ask what she's been using all this time, but with the strength and determination she grips that knife, along with how close she stands to Gwil, Joe is pretty certain he knows.

Footsteps, trampling, running out from the forest, enormous shapes splashing through the river-- "Hang on, hold the phone, are those… tigers?"

"Bears?" 

"...Uh,"

"RUN!" A shout and the sight of a pale figure of middling height precedes the loping dark shapes. 

"Shit, shit, shit--mutts, muttations, go go!" 

Joe pulls his bow off his back and nocks an arrow as, charging toward him, to them all, face pale, arm bloody, eyes wide, is Allen. Rami's friend, sole tribute living from District Eleven, running in front of a group of creatures with bright almost glowing eyes. Like tracker jackers, these creatures are created by the Capitol with various aspects from multiple animals, and all of the characteristics chosen are ruthless. One of the creatures jumps at Allen, fangs gleaming, and Joe shoots, his arrow going through its nearer eye. It falls, mouth agape, eyes dimming. They truly look human. Specifically human. And on the side of the creature there are what appear to be scars or brands. A one. Joe gets a quick peek before more creatures come boiling out of the trees. 

He hears Lucy scream as Gwil lets out a shout and another creature yelps. Ben grunts and the sight of his spear and Gwil's trident enter Joe's peripheral vision. He sees Ben's hand grasp the spear shaft and jerk it free from a twitching body on which the number three gleams in shiny scar tissue. Joe grabs onto Allen's arm as he falls, slippery wetness of blood saturating his skin, squelching between Joe's fingers. Allen groans and Gwil's arm is suddenly around his opposite side as Joe whispers an apology. 

"Get out of here, Lucy-- go on, Ben! We'll follow you!" Joe has never heard Gwilym sound like that before, his tone of voice is desperate and high and shrill.

"Where do we meet?!" Ben's deep voice bellows over the shrieking and roars, sounds of the animals and of Allen too, now. 

"At the--at the Horn!" Joe squawks as he locks eyes with Gwil, who nods. He then shifts his gaze to Ben, heart in his throat, in his eyes. "Ben--"

Ben's own heart thuds heavily as he stares at Joe across the expanse of ground between them. He sees the ache in his fellow tribute's eyes, the fear, and it hurts. So much. But he lifts his hand and replies "See you at the Horn, Joe," before putting his hand to Lucy's back and ushering her onward as Joe shoots down a mutt behind them. 

***

Gwil wraps Allen's arm around his shoulder and the district eleven tribute gasps "Why are you taking me, helping? I'll only slow you down."

"Because we're not leaving anybody behind," Gwilym grunts and hauls Allen against him, clenching the shaft of his trident in his free hand as he starts to lengthen his strides. Joe stays by Allen's opposite side, panning his eyes and bow around. 

"But--"

Joe shakes his head sharply, ears starting to ring. Again he sees Rami's face in his mind's eye. Hears the sound he made as the spear struck and sank into his diaphragm. His fingers clench around his bow, vision blurring. "No, no, no 'but's. I can't--I didn't leave Rami behind." _And I didn't ditch Ben either._ Allen gulps at his mate's name. "I won't leave you."

With a shaky breath, extending his blood-spotted hand, Allen smiles with gratitude in his eyes. His voice booms out hollowly, almost. "For Rami," he says.

Joe nods, grasps his hand, squeezes it. "Exactly. For Rami." 

***

Ben pushes Lucy ahead, telling her to go, go, go, as he glances repeatedly behind him, wondering if the mutts are smart enough, or many enough to encircle them. And he worries about Joe. Gwil too, the pair of them stuck back with Allen, who is clearly hurt-- Ben could not tell how badly, but he seemed to be bleeding profusely. Yet with his own wound experience, he knows exactly how stubborn Joe is about leaving anyone behind. 

Lucy shifts the knife into her other hand and reaches out to Ben, slowing down. "Lucy, what's wrong?" He asks. "C'mon, we've gotta get to the Horn."

"I know," Lucy bites her lip. "I'm just… Ben," she draws in a long, shaking breath, eyes gleaming with tears that he can see in the artificial moonlight as her voice wobbles, goes nearly silent "I'm scared."

"Ah, Lucy. Me too." Ben reaches out to her and takes her hand. "But I gotta, I gotta believe we can make it. We're not gonna stop, we won't turn our backs on each other, okay?" Lucy lets out a sharp wail. "Okay, hey, we'll be alright. Do you believe that? Gwil's got kick-arse trident skills."

Lucy wipes her eyes and almost smiles. "...and Joe's a dead eye with those arrows. Dead shot, great shot. Erm."

"I get what you mean," Ben reassures her gently. "See?" He nods. "They can do this. We can do this." He cannot quite believe he is saying this stuff, can't believe how hopeful he honestly feels. But he does, and he thinks he knows the reason, the cause. Joe. It's Joe. He's helped Ben so much. Ben looks at Lucy, who squeezes his hand with a gentle, knowing look. He flushes a bit. Had he said something out loud? But no; Lucy gets it, she understands what Ben's thinking, how he's feeling, because of Rami and the way she feels about him.

"We've got to go," she says, breathing deeply. "I know, I'm okay. I'm ready."

"Yeah?" 

"Yes."

Ben tugs on her hand and starts moving, and she moves in-step with him. Together they run onward through the forest.

***

Joe and Gwil are practically carrying Allen between them now, Joe gasping as he holds his bow in his free hand, Gwil pressing his lips together and using his trident as a walking stick to help himself, them all, move forward. "Keep going, keep going," he mumbles, a mantra to himself and to Joe, Allen too. 

Joe starts humming softly, Allen stares at him in stupefaction. "Is he...singing?"

Gwilym squints, and then he smiles. "I'm learning to roll with it," he says.

"My mentor always told us to keep ourselves alive," Joe pipes. So he is doing this for Roger as well as for himself, to keep his spirits up: "_I was told a million times of all the troubles in my way, tried to grow a little wiser, little better every day!_" As they slog through water and charge up sandstone, across the clear space to get closer to the Horn of Plenty clearing, "_But if I crossed a million rivers and I ran-- rode a million miles, then I'd still be where I started, bread and butter for a smile!_" He beams at Gwil and Allen, weary but hoping, praying for them all to get through. 

Gwil nods back to him on Allen's other side, and his eyes brighten as he recalls a snatch of this tune-- it's a ripping ballad. He wants to say he'd heard it sung by the fishermen when he was a boy, selling cockles and mussels alive onshore. "_Well I sold a million mirrors in a shop in alley way, but I never saw my face in any window any day._"

Joe lets out a whoop of appreciation. "Attaboy, Gwil! Sing it, man!" 

Gwilym ducks his head, and Allen, though weak and still half-convinced this is utterly ridiculous, cannot pretend he doesn't recognise the tune, as songs are present always in the trees. "_Well, they say your folks are telling you to be a superstar. But I tell you just be satisfied, stay right where you are!!_"

All three look at each other and crow into each other's faces: "Keep yourself alive! Keep yourself alive-- it'll take you all your time and money, honey you'll survive!!!"

The snarl of a creature and BOOM of a cannon sobers the group, as they had begun grinning (laughing outright in some cases). Gwil grips Allen tighter by the arm and says "Let's go, Joe."

"Put it in overdrive," Allen grunts. Joe lets out a strangled sound as they charge through the trees with a final burst of speed, breaking through the foliage into the central clearing and seeing Ben and Lucy pinned against the Horn by the final Career tribute. From District Two, they think. And the remainder of the slavering mutts are still behind them. 

Gwilym starts to slow down, trying to take in the situation; take stock, hatch a plan, but Joe can't take it and screeches "BEN!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, got one more chapter in the Arena after this, because there are a few things I gotta iron out. Also I needed to include a cuddle fest between the allies
> 
> I legitimately want to give Lucy the biggest hug in the world, oh my god
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this (cliffhanger aaaahhh dun dun)-- Joe's dorky singing of "Keep Yourself Alive", which I had a blast including, may be my favourite part of this chapter. Gwil and Allen simply HAD to join in! Hahaha I love them :D 
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	24. Kings of Beasts Now Counting Their Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR DEATH AND GORE AND MUTILATION, AS WELL AS SUICIDAL IDEATION (this chapter is intense and sad and gross and I'm sorry)

Ben looks up with difficulty from the ground where his face is pressed into frigid mud. 

He and Lucy had run across to the Horn, almost made it when out of the corner of his eye here came the big guy from Two, right at her. Ben had not stopped to think, he leapt onto the tribute's back, and in wrestling for Ben's spear, that was when Joe, Allen, and Gwil appeared. Ben hadn't seen them, he simply heard the mutts coming, circling. The breathing and padding of feet. And then the screech of his name from Joe slackened Ben's grip just enough for him to get thrown down and for his spear to be jabbed against his neck, pressing to his throat as the final Career tribute grins ferally down.

Lucy screams. 

*** 

Joe is losing his mind. His heart and lungs feel like they are going to fall out of his mouth as he sees that bloodthirsty asslamp pushing Ben into the mud, taking his time with the spear. He looks over at Gwil, knowing the other man is trying to come up with a plan, but Joe can't wait for it. "I'm sorry, Gwil," he says.

Yet Gwilym gets it, he does. Takes Allen's weight completely onto himself, ripping his other sleeve to create a bandage for the tribute's arm wound. "Go on, Joe, go. I got this," he urges. 

"You sure?" Joe gasps. "I don't wanna leave you--"

"Yes, go on, get to them!" Gwilym hisses. Joe has to help Ben and Lucy, there's no time. No place. Those mutts will be charging in; Gwilym is completely certain of that as he hears growling, yowls and huffs. Joe has the longest range weapon, it makes sense he's going-- Gwil watches him pull an arrow from his quiver and pull back the string before he looks back to Allen, who is wavering. "...I think I can getcha over, if these things don't charge," he murmurs.

Allen gulps and nods, fingers sliding over Gwilym's arm. "Don't wait on my account if you've got to move," his lilting tone is pleading with the tall man.

Gwil is prepared to say something else in retort when Joe's slightly shaky angry voice shouts "Hey, asshole!" At the tribute with his foot literally on Ben's neck, pressing him into the ground. Joe's back is stiff as he adds "Don't make me do this." His arrow is trained on the tribute's face. 

"I can still do THIS," The Career man's teeth are gritted. Cords stand out in his neck and the speartip is nicking Ben's skin. Lucy is pressed against the Horn and still has her knife; Joe sees her flipping it out of the corner of his eye. 

"Yes but look around you," calls Gwil's strident yet gentle voice. A core of steel exists in his tone as he and Allen move slowly behind Joe, freezing as an animal growl rises. "D'you hear that?" The Career tribute's eyes are flickering but he grips the spearshaft and presses down harder. Ben lets out a cry. 

"If I shoot out your leg or anything, these mutts'll be on you," Joe's body has started trembling now, the arrow making a tapping sliding sound against the bowstring. 

"Do you want that?" Gwil asks. 

The other explodes. "This is what we ALL wanted!!! It's what THEY want!" He jerks his head up at the sky, at the Capitol, at the country. Ben stiffens. "It's what I've trained for, all alone...," He almost whimpers. They're all alone, all of them.

"So? You don't have to follow the training. We shouldn't, none of us! Can't we just--" Joe's eyes fill with tears. Can't they stop it, any of it? Something in the other tribute's eyes shifts, changes. Does he want to do this? Joe doesn't know, and then

And then it's as if there is a signal as the muttations charge.

Ben looks up and presses his lips together, and shoves up into the other tribute's chest. Two staggers back and a mutt is on him. "Ben!" Joe runs and takes Ben's arm, Lucy coming up to his opposite side.

"Where do we go?"

"Uhhh,"

"Up, up on top of the horn, c'mon, let's climb!" Lucy and Ben head on as Joe whirls. "Gwil--"

Gwilym and Allen are running into trouble. The mutts see and smell the blood still oozing out of Allen's arm and Gwil can only do so much with his trident as he holds Allen up. Joe gets a shot off and beckons frantically as two mutts charge at District Two, who still has that damn sword--why he went at Ben with his own spear instead was just scare tactics. Shit. Ben picks up Lucy by the waist and lifts her to grasp the lip of the horn, its conical metal giving her places for footholds. She drops her knife as she climbs, and Ben ducks for it as a snarling mutt lunges at him.

Joe emits a strangled cry and then a body is flying between them. There's a grunt from Ben at the same instant of Gwil's anguished "ALLEN, NO!" And Joe's heart lurches, stops as fangs sink into Allen's chest and arms. He had jumped in front of Ben to save him. Joe shoots the muttation once and again and again; Gwil charges in with his trident as Ben starts stabbing, but the look in Allen's eyes alone tells them it isn't enough. 

Ben is sobbing, eyes wide and shocked as his face shines with tears. Gwil stands numbly as Joe crouches over Allen's form as he jerks and thrashes. Finally the mutt worrying him gets a dagger to the eye from Ben, and Gwil wraps his arms around a bloodied Allen, bending, removing the rest of his blue shirt to staunch the flow. "No...," Allen chokes. "No Gwil, leave--leave it. It's not... won't work, mate." He tries to smile, face lividly pale. 

Joe is also crying now. "Allen, oh god,"

"...Sorry Joe," Allen whispers. "Guess I couldn't--keep myself alive." 

Joe whimpers on a shocked laugh, and Ben croaks, pushing the other tribute's hair back, "Why'd you do that, mate?"

Allen's gaze is intent as he looks up at them, eyes tracking. "Because... someone has to live. And you--" he looks at Ben and then to Joe. "You both have something." He is shuddering and Gwilym takes his hand. "You too, Gwil," the ghost of a smile. "Now just leave me down here, they're coming."

The three men look at each other as they take Allen's meaning. More muttations. A group is going after District Two right now, but if he gets done with them, he'll come back, and if they remain with him.... "This is like a nightmare," whimpers Joe. "Allen, no."

With a heart-rending smile heartbreakingly akin to Rami's, Allen nods at Joe. "Yes," he whispers. "You have to go. For Rami," his words are weakening, whole chest shining red. "Go on." Feebly he shoves at them, and Ben closes his eyes, grabbing Joe.

"_NO!_" Joe screams as the blond bodily lifts him up. Gwil rises after squeezing Allen's shoulder and helps Ben clamp Joe between them, climb up, keep him still. "I can't leave him, he can't go alone! Allen!" _Rami!_ He screams, feeling like he's out of time, back in that clearing, seeing both men as they expire. Ben feels as though his heart is cracking as he looks up at Lucy, who is grasping Joe's arms as Gwilym shoves him up on top of the horn. Ben swoops down and hands his spear to Allen. 

"Take this," he whispers. "Give em hell." Allen nods, mustering up the last remnants of his energy. "and Allen? Thank you," Ben's deep voice cracks and more tears prick his eyes, cascade freely down his face. "Thank you so much."

"Cheers," Allen whispers, and as Ben shakily turns and climbs, he watches over his shoulder as probably the strongest bloody tribute of them all pulls himself to a standing position and heaves out with a hard grin at the irony: "Right, come an' get me, you limey bastards!!"

Gwil reaches over the edge as Ben loses his grasp when Allen screams, and the district two tribute lunges at the mutts or him, the blond cannot tell as he slides and shimmies up, abdomen catching on the jutting metal. "Thanks, Gwil," he grunts out as panicked blue eyes hold his. 

Gwil nods, rubbing Ben's arm as he pulls his legs up, a cry escaping him after one muttation breaks past Allen to sink its teeth into Ben's large left thigh. Gwil's muscles twitch and with stone-cold strength and precision he hurls his trident into the vicious creature's spinal column.

***

Screams are still echoing below them as Gwilym throws his long body across Ben, fingers grasping his shirt and skin, pulling him to safety.

Ben barely has time to breathe and to see Lucy holding onto a sobbing Joe as Gwil's long hands press on his leg, checking the puncture wounds-- "I'm fine," Ben protests-- when they all hear a voice after a cannon blows, making Joe wince and moan. Screams are dying down, preceding the sound of a second cannon. 

And then the voice booms out again: "ATTENTION TRIBUTES. THE ORIGINAL RULING ALLOWING FOR A SINGLE VICTOR HAS BEEN REINSTATED. MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOUR."

Silence, dead and ringing. Lucy still holds onto Joe, who is gulping and choking back sobs. Ben involuntarily squeezes Gwilym's arm, and Gwil goes deathly still.

Ben's heart thuds and he takes his hand away. Lucy's eyes get huge. "Gwil...," 

"I've got this, Lucy," Gwilym speaks gruffly, soft. Almost coldly. Joe has ceased crying and Ben crawls to him, reaching out. Joe grips his hand.

"I want to go home," Mazzello moans, hazel eyes swimming. His voice breaks. "Oh god I want to go home."

Ben squeezes his hand and presses his face into Joe's hair, shaking. "You should go home," he whispers. "There's--you, you've got people waiting for you there. I--" _I don't,_ he means to say. His family doesn't need him, not the way Joe's does. Ben has always been alone. All he can manage to articulate is the thready "... I've only got you, Joe."

Joe wraps his arms around Ben and grips him as close, as tightly as he can. "Oh, Benny," he whispers, and then Gwil is moving, so they both look up-- Ben shifting sideways to protect Joe, shielding him with his own body as Joe wipes his eyes and says "So Gwilly, is this the end of the line?"

"I think so," says Gwilym somberly. "It's been a helluva ride, but there's gotta be a winner." He lifts his hands, which he had closed in fists, and opens them. Showing the contents to Joe and Ben. "Got to remember who the REAL enemy is," he murmurs, and Joe's heart skips a beat. 

Nightlock. Dark blue-black purply berries rest in the cup of Gwilym's pale palms. Joe remembers one of his mother's earliest teachings before his father took them into the woods: Nightlock berries are poison berries. Even one is deadly enough to stop your heart in under a minute. And here Gwil is with a whole PILE of them. "Uhhh, buddy, where'd you get those?" Joe asks, trying to keep his tone conversational. 

Gwil swallows, glancing at Lucy, who'd come up beside him. "We were talking," he said, "and--"

"--we didn't want to win this without each other," Lucy whispers, voice thickening now. They are all going to be in tears in a moment, she is certain of it. "So this was our desperately needed thing, what we got from the Feast. Our way out if things got too bad."

Ben's mouth twists. "Well this is pretty bad." 

"So, bottoms up?"

Joe's eyes go wide and he grabs Ben's hand. "That's it!" He hisses.

Ben stares at him. "What?"

"Remember who the real enemy is!" Joe speaks fiercely. "Guys, they want to have a winner. They NEED one." He holds out his hand to take some berries. "Give me half," he says. Gwil stares and then his eyes brighten with understanding as he nods. Almost smiles as he tips half the berries into Joe's hand, who in turn pours half of those in Ben's. "We've gotta stand up, face the camera, show them all," Mazzello instructs. 

Ben's eyes crinkle as he cocks his head, confused. "What for?" He asks. "What d'you mean, Joe?"

"Eating these berries will kill us," Joe whispers. Ben sucks in a sharp breath and nods. His gaze sharpens with intent understanding. Gwil pours the other berries into Lucy's hands, and kisses her forehead.

"Group hug," he says with finality. And "I love you lads."

They wrap each other in arms, hands clenched around the berries. 

"Cheers, mate."

"Love you too, Gwil."

Lucy kisses Ben's and Joe's cheeks, and then Ben locks eyes with Joe before grabbing him for a kiss on the mouth, everything else be damned. 

"Alright," after they break apart, the four friends stand in a circle, holding out their hands. "Lift 'em up, let them see," Joe says.

"This is what you wrought!" Gwilym calls loudly and they all lift their hands to their mouths.

A shriek splits the Arena "STOP! STOP" And at that moment the hairs on Ben's neck stand on end. The wind comes up on the tallest tree, closest to the end of the Horn in this clearing. And he remembers what the forcefield looks like now. 

Grabbing for his fellow tribute's hand, Ben croaks "Joe--!" And Joe looks at him as lightning strikes the tree and a shock illuminates and reverberates throughout their entire world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the Games have ended with a bang, so to speak. I have a lot of emotions about this chapter that I'm still sorting out, so do let me know what you think.
> 
> *Allen Leech is the bravest of all  
*Joe's emotional responses hurt me to write  
He's still not over losing Rami and NEITHER AM I GUYS  
*Dear Gwil and Lucy and their friendship  
*Sweet Ben, I feel for him--especially with the way Allen died, he's not going to forgive himself for that in a hurry :'(
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	25. Listen to the Good Plan

Joe feels juddering metal below him after Ben shouts his name, and searing white light fills his eyes. He is blasted off his feet, and sees nothing else but a fuzzy dark shape; he cannot move as it lowers itself over his body. A mechanical claw wraps around him and he feels himself being pulled upwards. The movement makes his stomach lurch and darkness encroaches on the remainder of his vision, crawling across the edges in ropes reminiscent of his hallucinations. That makes Joe's heart thud painfully. He strives to move, to shake it off, but his ears are ringing and then all sound ceases for him as everything goes black.

Happenings in the Arena play over and over again in his unconscious mind, in vivid colour and surround sound, and at the sight of Rami impaled, of Allen's chest engulfed in an excess of coagulate gore, of Ben's terror-stricken green eyes as he shouts _"Joe!"_

With a heave of air Joe shoots upright, waking to the sight of bright blue eyes and a high husky voice snarking "Well at least you kept yourself alive, though that little stunt at the end with those poison berries--" blond hair shakes as teeth are bared. "You were fucking lucky."

"Roger," Joe croaks as his mentor catches his shoulders, touch exceedingly gentle even as his words sound harsh. "Am I--are we--" sucking in a breath again, hardly daring to believe his luck, to comprehend all of their good fortune, "Gwil and Lucy got out too, right? Are we going home?"

Roger blinks, and a broken expression fills his eyes. His hand, still on Joe's shoulder, trembles. "There's--we haven't a home anymore, lad," the blond man utters. "There is no more District Twelve."

***

Riots had spread from Eleven and could not be stopped. Rami's death and Joe's response to it catapulted the outermost districts into chaos. Soldiers were brought in, and people were captured and beaten. The miners didn't stop, they had coal and other minerals to make weapons. Capitol would not stand for that, so "Fuckers dropped firebombs on our houses," Roger's voice shakes with fury. And he was gone as were these boys. So none of them could fucking help. "People got out, went into the woods. We're headed out there now in this plane. But…" Roger's teeth clench as he ceases speaking. "Joe, lad,"

"Where are we going?" Joe asks, attempting to swing his legs out of the bed he realises he is lying on. "Is my family all right? Did they get out? What about Ben's? He'll want to know--"

"Joe," Roger stands up, trying to halt the young man's rush headlong. "Your family is fine from what I've heard so far, but Ben…" Joe's heart drops into his feet at the heaviness in Roger's voice. 

"What?!" He demands. "What, Roger? Where's Ben? Ben!" Joe rips himself free and whirls around, and from the opposite end of the area where he had been lying, he sees two tall forms. Curly black hair and anguished hazel eyes are alongside shorter hair and broken blue ones. Oh, no. "Brian, Gwil--"

"Did you tell him, Rogie?" Brian asks, voice wavering, eyes haunted. It's happening again, the loss of a love.

Roger huffs. "Fuck, Brian, it isn't that bloody easy!"

"Tell me WHAT?" Joe demands. "what the hell is going on?? One of you, tell me!" His voice goes high and screechy as Gwilym steps forward. He wobbles over to stand before Joe and his high-cheeked face crumples. 

"They took him," Gwil croaks. "the Capitol… they got him, Joe. Grabbed Ben, and--and Lucy too." His voice breaks. "You and I ended up blasting out of there after the...the lightning blew…."

Joe is shuddering. No. No no no. If the Capitol has them, what does that mean? He can't take that thought any farther. If the Capitol has them "If the Capitol has them, where are WE going?" He screams. "_WHO'S FLYING THIS DAMN PLANE?!?_"

"District Thirteen." A gruff voice emanates from the cockpit of the plane, and a craggy face comes into view. Tom Hollander, the Gamemaker. "That is where we are heading. It has gone underground and now plans to rise up against the Capitol--with your help, Joseph Mazzello."

There is silence. Joe cannot believe his ears. He and Ben won, they made it, as Gwil and Lucy did-- and now Ben's gone, captured. By the Capitol. Lucy too. Joe closes his eyes, shuddering as he imagines what might be done to them if the tortures in the Games are anything to go by. And here this old guy is, all proud to have rescued Joe, to tell him that his help is needed for an uprising? They expect him to help them? Seriously?

Opening and closing his mouth in utter disbelief, Joe has to brace his feet to stop his knees from buckling. Clench his hands to stop himself from punching the man in the face. Roger has come up to steady him, and Brian moves to his opposite side as Gwil stands frozen. His devastated expression is --or would be-- like to break the tribute's heart if it didn't already feel as though it was cracking right in two. 

Joe's voice is incredulous as he stares at Hollander and responds tremblingly: "...what in the world makes you think I can, or that I want to, help you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I may have mentioned this story is based around the entire Hunger Games trilogy. This is what happens when I do that, ta-da! (Please don't hate me...)
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	26. Grace to Purge This Place

Joe is cold.

He feels empty as he faces forward, staring at the side of the plane as they fly on. Coming up to him, tall body quiet, long fingers curled around a cup, his eyes glittering with pain and tears, is Brian May. The stylist holds out the cup to Joe, his hand trembling a little. "Here," he croaks out. They've been on this flight for a while, heading ever outward, ever away. Long away. "Joe, you've got to drink something. And eat, please…" Joe shrugs, listless, and Brian utters as he crouches to face the young man, his voice shaking: "Don't--please don't make me watch you waste away as I did another friend." Brian's breath hisses out. "I cannot, I will not bear it." Joe's head rises at that. _Freddie._ The stylist's old friend who never really left the Arena--Joe can't be like that, no. Won't do that to Brian. Besides,

"You're no good to Ben or your family or anyone if you fucking wink out on us!" Roger calls.

Brian whips his head around, tone of voice severe. "_Roger._" But Joe swallows hard and takes the cup.

"He's right," he says, sucking in a deep breath through his nose. Tries to smile at Brian. "What's he been saying from the beginning? To keep ourselves alive. And I'm sure Ben--" his voice cracks and tears fill his hazel-brown eyes. "He's keeping himself alive too."

***

Darkness. Ben recalls being blown off the Horn after calling Joe's name, and then there were people in white suits and movements and something sharp jabbing him and darkness. Now he feels like he's swimming up out of the dark, into a place with guards and those stylist assistants with multicolored hair. Ben shifts, tries to move. He feels heavy, so heavy, and wonders where Gwil and Lucy are, and Joe. Especially Joe.

As his eyes take stock he is suddenly wrenched upright and he hears a buzzing sound. "Get his head," a sharp voice says, and he freaks, thinking of the buzzing of the tracker jackers. What they did to the Career girl, and to Joe, after… the hallucinations-- 

"No!" He cries out, deep voice higher with fear as it reverberates around the space. Fighting, tossing his head. He is back in the Capitol, of course, in one of those bare opulent rooms, but "We won, we won, why are you doing this?" Ben gasps, and there are shouts. 

"Come on, help me with him, he's too strong!" 

Damn right he's strong. Ben finds it in himself to feel a trifle smug; at least until he thinks of Joe praising his strength. And then he hears another cry, this one of anguish. Ben's eyes rise to lock on a figure across the room. Lucy. Ben's heart leaps to see her alive and whole, but his jubilation turns to horror as two people hold her down and take a razor to her hair. Her beautiful long hair. "What the bloody hell--" he gasps, and then as more hands grasp his head and body to yank him back, he shouts "Stop it! Let her alone! Go ahead, cut mine, I don't care!" 

"Ben? Is that you?" Lucy's wide, tearful eyes rise to catch his and he tries to smile at her. 

"Yeah, it's me, Lucy," Ben grits, teeth clenching, cords standing out in his neck as he swears "And I promise we're gonna be okay." Ben can't speak any more after that because he is whacked across the face, hard, and then he feels the cold sharpness of a razorblade on the sides of his own head. Sees bits of blond fall even as he hears Lucy struggling to hold back sobs.

All Ben thinks, he hopes that Joe and Gwil are safe somewhere, that not all of them are stuck here losing their hair and whatever else they are slated to lose.

***

District Thirteen comes into the viewscreen like a mountain from the sea; green and brown sea, in this case. It's a grey pile of rubble in a clearing, looking just the way it has always been described--blown to bits with firebombs. As Twelve has been too now. That's what was said.

Roger's hooded eyes bulge and he swears under his breath. "Motherfuckers," he spits. "Oh, those bastards." Of whom he is speaking no one else really knows. Brian comes up and puts an arm around his shoulder, and Joe looks up from his seat. Recalls the last time he'd jumped up and acted all excited to be in a new place. The Capitol, with imminent death on the horizon, but also with Brian and Roger and Ben…. 

Joe doesn't realize he's made any sound until he feels a presence beside him, a warm hand rubbing circles on his back. Gwil. Joe turns his head to see Gwil's face, his already pale complexion seeming stark-white. Purple-black circles like bruises stand out underneath his eyes and his dark hair is mussed as if he's been dragging his hands through it, perhaps in lieu of sleep. Joe figures he doesn't look much better, and can't help leaning into Gwil, whose long arm wraps around him in an automatic attempt at comfort, which almost makes Joe cry. He thinks again of his father's words: _We do all we can._ Gwilym Lee seems to live by that credo with or without the need for a reminder. It's amazing.

"Hey buddy," Joe's voice is wobbly. "How's it going?" He asks the stupidest possible question, because Gwil is obviously a wreck too. His best friend has been captured, and they don't even know what's happening in District Four. At least Joe's heard that his family is safe. Other people have things just as bad and worse.

Gwilym leans his head against Joe's. "Well, Joey, sweetheart," he whispers. "--Like you and Roger have counseled, I'm keeping myself alive."

Joe puts his hand on and squeezes Gwil's knee. "Awesome. That's all any of us can do, Gwilly. R-right?" 

Gwil shoots him a sad smile. "Right." 

Joe's lips start to tremble, as do his shoulders, and he turns himself into Gwil's chest as their plane touches down. Gwilym clears his throat and pulls Joe to him, holding on tight as the other clutches him back. They're here, they've got each other, and if there is a way, any way they can get to their friends, they will. 

They've got to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, trying out a technique of alternating scenes from Ben and Joe in as real-time a manner as possible. Hopefully it works.
> 
> *Poor Ben and Lucy getting their hair cut off! Lucy's is inspired (hate using that word for an awful occurrence, but) by what happened to Johanna Mason in Mockingjay. Ben's hair here, getting buzzed on the sides, is from how shocked I was to see what his actual hair looked like... particularly after the sight of all his crazy wigs. The Capitol is trying to break them both. Will it succeed? Who knows
> 
> *Gwilym referring to Joe as "sweetheart" comes from a reply he made on Joe's Instagram post for Gwil's birthday. They're such good mates I might cry
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	27. From Mother's Love is the Son Estranged

Roaring engines overtake crumbled stone and ash and dust, but between all the remnants of the dead earth, as it was supposed to have been, of District Thirteen, new grass has begun to grow. Rocks have collected, and somehow it seems pristine without the presence of houses or anything that registers of people. Like the hollows and clearings outside District Twelve that Joe and his siblings roamed with their father. Even as his heart aches now he thinks of that, the unspoiled soil, and feels something almost like peace at the sights here.

And then their airship dips lower and he realizes there is a cleverly disguised hangar of stone and metal that is leading underneath the rubble, onto the bowels of the earth. No fair folk live here, like his father said; he watches as their pilot takes them down into a claustrophobic space of lighting that must take energy from above, yet there are no windows. A stone shaft, like the mines, opens up to an enormous hangar and then tiers extending into the depths like a... "It's like the library," murmurs Gwil, still standing next to Joe. He looks down at the other as Joe had not registered his automatic impulse to squeeze Gwilym's closer hand. Gwil squeezes back.

Gwil swallows and almost whispers "...My mum would tell us this tale, I don't think what she talked about could ever've actually existed, but I always hoped. There was this library, and every one of its narrow halls opened into a gallery, that led into another gallery, on and on, to infinity. It was said to hold all the texts of the world." Blue eyes are wide as Gwil watches light flash by when their ship comes down and slows to a stop. "The librarians there are imperfect, because of course they cannot read or know all of the books," Gwil licks his lips and adds "...Yet they know that if they keep on, they can read as much as possible. There they are safe to pursue knowledge, without fear. They are...," Heaving a sigh, eyes now wet with tears he doesn't shed, the tall man ducks his face a bit, blinking hard. "I dunno, I always liked that. The thought of being safe to learn, and know, and read. This place..." Hollander is beckoning to them, and to Bri and Rog, who have automatically stepped up to flank the tributes as if to guard the pair. Gwilym's neck cranes, his eyes following the tiers as Joe does. "Well, it's very different than the library I imagined," he says at last.

"Mate, hate to burst your bubble, but this isn't a fucking library," utters Roger. Brian lets out a cough and reaches round to prod him, but Joe gets what Gwil is saying. Sort of. He thinks; it's just that the idea of learning enough to be safe, to potentially circumvent the ways of the Capitol, it must require knowledge. And this place is apparently the seat of the rebellion and of such knowledge, yet it isn't what they'd thought.

Needs help from _Joe,_ for starters-- and if he knows anything about himself, Joe is sure he's not the kind of guy to say something that will effectively beget a rebellion.

He says as much to the head people they meet, after the Gamemaker leads them into what looks like a bare-bones council room or something, past people with weapons, guards they suppose; others are being led in --ragged folk with haunted eyes, sunken cheeks. Dirty. The adults are the ones who keen or cry, while the children are silent. Terribly silent. Joe feels an icy fist clench round his guts as he begs everything not to find his little brother like that. He doesn't know if he can take anything having happened to John....

Hollander clears his throat and gestures to another man who has just entered the room from a doorway opposite them. "Misters Lee and Mazzello, may I present the Singer. Leader of this district as it is."

He's a blunt little man, sharp movements and sharper eyes, and Joe cannot stop an instant souring of his stomach. Possibly from the sights out of this room, he sees Gwil wiping his eyes surreptitiously with fingers and thumb as he acts as though he's stroking his face thoughtfully, hearing the leader outline how many people they've thus far gathered. "You are lucky we were able to save you all," he says, and those words hit Joe like a brick wall. His stomach lurches as he thinks of Lucy's smile and Ben's blue-green eyes.

But Roger snarls out first "Oh, we're lucky, are we?? Yeah, alright, tell that to the kids who got captured! Or all the ones who've _DIED_ year after fucking year in the Arena! Tell that to my best friend in the world who died finding out about how the Capitol fucked up this world, you bastard! But oh, let's get down on our bloody knees and thank you for showing up now--!" He moves as if to lunge at Singer, but Brian grabs his jacket and then his shoulder.

"Roger," that sweet voice is broken yet still holds steel. He looks up at the district leader, automatically extending a hand. "I'm sorry, this just, it isn't what we, well, expected."

Roger starts back up "You think we fucking want--"

"But," the stylist continues hurriedly, in diplomatic style, so instantly applied the younger men feel as though someone could have gotten whiplash, "We are glad to be safe. We only wonder what is being done to help our comrades back in the Capitol. Are there plans to rescue them?"

A rescue. Joe's eyes snap right onto the leader, hopeful, and he hears Gwil expel a wet sound as those hopes are dashed with "Not at this time."

"We don't know enough," Hollander puts in. "The President has never captured tributes after the conclusion of Games. We need to find a way to see what he is planning, or another means to see if the captives are even still alive."

Still alive. Joe goes cold at that, feeling Gwil's hand tighten on his to the point it might be bruising. He doesn't care, as he's holding Gwil just as tight also. But no, they have to be alive. How will... "How will we know?" He clears his throat with a cough, voice cracking as everyone's eyes land on him. "How can we, I mean. Unless this place gets good broadcasting all the way from the Capitol news stations, how are we gonna know what's happening?"

"And even if we do, it's bound to be all propaganda," says Gwil in a manner that brooks no dissent. Roger is nodding emphatically. "Are you lot doing something to...get word out?"

Singer looks at Hollander and spreads his hand. The Gamemaker turns and puts both hands behind his back as if at attention, and responds "There are means of communication via filmmaking that this district has been testing and stockpiling." 

"And that," his eyes now rest on Joe, as Singer's do, the latter in a calculating manner as he interjects to complete Hollander's statement "...is where you come in, Mazzello."

Joe feels like his heart is going to sink through the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm back! It's been awhile, an incredibly long while. Besides this chapter isn't necessarily much but set-up for the rest of the story...cue philosophical musings from Gwil. The phenomenon he talks about is something called "The Library of Babel" and it is a philosophical story written by a man named Jorge Luis Borges in his book entitled _Ficciones_. An incredibly interesting read in my opinion, and I don't even know if I (or Gwil) has got the full sense of it here because it's so densely philosophical!
> 
> Also cue Roger Meddows Taylor going off
> 
> Anyhow. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter, and that you are all staying safe out there.
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	28. Doubts All Around, Around, Around

"...I don't think I can do what, I mean if you're looking for propaganda," Joe's voice squeaks a little as he tries to smile. "I'm not a convincing sort of person. Couldn't even convince my sister to do my chores growing up, ha ha."

"What you did in the Arena was so very powerful," Singer says, and Hollander pins his eyes on Joe.

"Your actions started the riots."

"You blew kisses at the sky, remember when I told you...,"

Joe flinches. His actions had been to stay alive, and keep his friends alive, and to show love however he could. "'Look to the sky', I know," his voice is wretched as Roger especially makes a sharp movement, staring at him. "But that minute, I - I wasn't thinking about what you said to me, I'm sorry. I was, I'd just lost a friend." Joe's shoulders start to shake and his eyes blink rapidly, expression less mobile than it's ever been, almost flat. Gwilym's arm goes around his back and Brian moves over to curl his long hand around Joe's left shoulder. 

Roger snarls again "...He hasn't got to be your ruddy poster boy, Singer," spitting almost in his fury, blue eyes blazing. "OR yours, Hollander. In case you haven't noticed, he's out of the fucking Games, and we've got two kids who've been captured!" Brian doesn't bother to stop him this time, and the mentor puts out his chest, standing and glowering, enraged by this political bullshit already. Joe feels a rush of affection for the man, but he does want to help, if he can.

"I'll... I'll think about it, about what you want me to do." he says and does his best to smile. "In the meantime, I, well we're probably all wondering, what's going on with the striking and everything? And... Who's all here from the districts?"

Hollander looks at Singer, who appears disinterested as soon as Roger steps away from him, affronted--he almost appears a trifle wary, or at least concerned. Joe wonders how well Roger is known for beating the shit out of people he doesn't like. He is pretty certain that Roger has gotten into fisticuffs on at least one, if not multiple, occasions. It's just as likely that Brian was forced to collect or calm him down. The tribute comes back from imagining this hypothetical, satisfying, and funny situation to hear that people from districts twelve to nine have gotten here. Eight is still holding out against the Capitol, Seven and Six were practically flattened. Five, Four, and Three... Being power/electrical, transportation, and due to the fact that the ocean is on the opposite end of Panem to District Thirteen, are either being coddled or coerced into remaining loyal, but not much has yet been heard.

Gwil expels a strangled sound and Joe lifts his brows at his friend, automatically leaning into him. "It's okay, Gwilly, you made it here and I bet your family's just as tough. And til they get here you can be part of mine. Well, you can be part of my family anyway," giving his tall friend a big real smile "I can always use another brother, and you, well you are." It's a lot to say, but Joe has learned a thing or two about voicing how he feels, and being in the Hunger Games lets him know as much as anything else, as losing his father did, that one has to do what one can. _Do all you can. Tell the truth and show your love. Be brave, like...like Ben._ Joe gulps and his lip wobbles as he looks at Gwil.

Gwilym's sharp-cheeked features go soft and his blue eyes are bright and warm as he thanks Joe, looking back at him and abruptly wrapping the other man in his arms. "That's so kind, Joe. I think of you as my brother too, mate. Erm, can we go now, then?" He asks the gamemaker and the district leader politely after setting Joe free from his hug. "We'll, erm--" he looks at Joe for help.

Joe steps forward and offers his hand to shake both Singer's as well as Hollander's. "Thanks for your trust in me, to want me to help you," he says, sincerity shining in his brown-hazel eyes. "I really will think about it, I promise."

Gwil shakes hands as well, and as they prepare to leave, the Head Gamemaker tells Brian where they will find the refugees from District Twelve.

The four go out, following directions - Roger a trifle, or more than a trifle reluctantly, as it happens - and he and Brian decide to stay back in this section ("I need a fucking drink, not to go wandering round this bloody prison, Brian!" Which might get them some looks if Bri had not hushed his friend). 

When Gwil and Joe reach the area underground where refugees have sort of living spaces, cabins on each tier of this place, a group of people enters the central space. And walking with a woman on the shorter side is a man with dark hair and warm skin and large grey eyes, Joe feels a lump block his throat as Gwilym's hand clutches his shoulder. The pair coming towards them are blurry as tears fill Joe's eyes and he cannot believe what he sees, though he's sure...

Voice croaking as he freezes, Joe blurts out, unable to stop himself, even though this is nuts, there's no way; it doesn't make sense, it can't be-- "_Rami?!_"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also short, so I may be adding more chapters to get to everything :) 
> 
> Hopefully you're enjoying, as much as this can be enjoyed - I'm also keeping chapters short so it's not too much of an angst fest all at once...
> 
> *Also wanted to include a version of Joe's post on Instagram for Gwil a couple years ago I believe, saying he loves him like a brother. So this was my version
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	29. Who Heed Me Not...

The man who looks like Rami stops short, eyes narrowing and then widening as though going from confusion to recognition as he takes in the sight of Joe, and possibly Gwil, in the sea of people shifting in currents around them. The woman beside him looks up and he blinks, murmurs something to her unheard over the cacaphony of - mostly - Joe's pounding heart. No, this isn't Rami, Joe tells himself. He has a brother. A twin. They really are identical - Joe expels a sound that even he is not sure is a sob or a laugh. Looks up at Gwilym, whose forearm he has clutched convulsively.

Sucks in another breath as he hears Rami again, unwitting, that terrified scream of his name shrieked in the woods of the Arena. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, trying to recall the other man's smile instead, the strength of his hug, something else, something - "Joe," he hears, and he bites his lip and starts shaking.

"Rami, oh, Rami, I'm so sorry..."

The voice continues gently "It's okay, you did all that you could. We know that." Joe blinks through tears and opens his eyes to see that face, so much like Rami's, now standing before him, next to which the woman, who must be their mother, looks as though she has been struck to the heart. And yet her eyes crinkle in something like a smile of relief, or pleasure, mixed with the sort of tearing, terrible sorrow Joe understands, though he registers now it is, it must be even more horrible for her. He'd lost his father, but she 

"--You lost a son," he gasps, automatically reaching out both hands to the pair of them, but mostly to her. "Oh, Mrs. Malek, I'm so sorry. I should have saved him!" 

"No," her voice is rich and musical, he understands where her son got his cadence of speaking now. Where both of them did. She takes Joe's hand in both of hers and holds fast. "You have done nothing wrong. This -" she looks around them, and then at her son, who has taken Joe's other hand. "It is the Capitol," her gaze is steely and fierce. "Blame nothing else but that for Rami's death. It is not on you." Squeezing his hand her voice catches and she adds "I am so grateful to you for, for loving my son in his last days. Sweet boy." She squeezes his hand again and pats it, running her fingers over this knuckles as she adds "Please think of that, and be at peace."

"Besides," her son says, "Rami loved you. I could tell. I mean, he doesn't tell just anybody stuff about me! I'm Sami," he adds as though that is necessary, but his eyes crinkle almost with mischief. "...But I figure you know that. And just by the way," he lets go of Joe's hand and pats him briskly on the back. "You took my idea of a kissing game and made it an actual thing, well done." He actually cackles.

Joe laughs in surprise and looks to Gwil, who waggles his eyebrows and chuckles too. "Yeah I'm with you, mate," he says to Sami. "Though I'm a little disappointed Joe didn't try out any moves on me."

"Hey, whoa," Joe holds up a hand and his eyes get big and mock-accusing. "I cuddled with you, Gwilym, I think that counts for something."

Gwil makes a show of pondering but cannot stop a smile. "Fair enough, Joseph," he says, and then looks over at Sami. "There's enough of Joe to go around."

"Despite me being so short," Joe adds, and there are more laughs, wiping eyes. 

Sami shakes his head and says "Have to do this, I'm sorry but especially since you just said that...," and lunges the rest of the way to wrap his arms tightly around Joe. "Thank you," he whispers in the other's ear, so softly with his jaunty teasing quality gone. "Really, thank you."

Joe blinks hard, shifts a bit and lifts his hands and arms, hugs the other back. Pressing his pale hands, clutching at Sami tightly. He can't quite help it. His mother stands close too, still having held onto Joe's left hand.

Eventually they let each other go, and Sami says "So. Did anybody give you the grand tour?"

Gwil and Joe look at each other 

"...Not really, they just told us vaguely where people were," 

"I'm looking for - my family," Joe says. "District Twelve, are they -"

"Oh yeah, their spaces are right down here," Sami waves a hand and beckons, turning back with his mother at his side. She smiles at Joe a final time before relinquishing him and turning too. "We've been here a little while, I'm sure we can find your family for you," he starts striding along, parting the melee.

"So, erm. Since you lot have been living here a bit," Gwil watches after the mother and son, following along with Joe as Sami leads them. "Wossit like, then?"

"Oh it's fine," Sami says over his shoulder, deadpan. "If you don't like sunlight, or miss trees, or have a burning desire for the bright lure of freedom."

"Sami!" His mother hisses, and he widens his eyes.

"Only joking, Ma," he adds a sardonic glance and a dramatic wink back to Gwil and Joe. "Nah, I mean. They're protecting us, they give us food." 

"We have familial sleeping quarters as well, and there seems to be enough room for all of the new arrivals. There are so many refugees from the districts," both are somber at that.

"I - we heard that some of the districts closer to the Capitol haven't come," Gwilym speaks hesitantly now, choosing words carefully. "Is that true?" There is anguish in his blue eyes as Sami and his mother look at each other.

"We haven't heard anything about districts lower than - I think - yes, District Six," Mrs Malek says. 

"And they are pretty good at keeping us informed, I mean, as much as Mike Myers's show ever does," Sami puts on a sprightly tone of voice. "I just LOVE it!" And then "Here, this is the part of the complex housing District Twelve." They have reached a section of the tiers with a metallic '12' on the wall above what appear to be cubicle doors. "Hopefully you can find your family, there are patrols that come around with lists of names. Keep everyone safe, I guess." Lowering his voice "...More like so they always know exactly where to find us." Louder again "So, do you want our help looking for them, Joe?"

Joe opens his mouth to reply when he hears a commotion ahead that includes the barking of a dog and an immediately familiar young voice calling out in exasperation.

"_No_, Frankie, we're not running, oh my god please stop - this is why Gram can't walk you that much here, you pull!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's...kind of two slight cliffhangers in a row, sorry guys
> 
> *Rami is so private about his family in life that I had to make inferences based upon the two stories I've heard him tell in interviews: one about his first kiss, where Rami said "Sami is a lot better with people than I am" so he apparently had a lot of first kisses before Rami had one, aw  
And Sami got Rami to stand in for him and perform his final exam in an acting class in college. They got into some mischief, so to me Sami seems the type. (Could be why Rami likes Joe so much, the hijink factor is similar) 
> 
> Anyhow, he's also so private about his mother that I hope my handling of her is respectful, as is my handling of Sami. And yes, this familiar voice is talking to a (possibly familiar) dog...
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	30. Children of the Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe learns some truths
> 
> ***WARNING Oblique references to character death below

It's still a small space despite the high ceilings of bedrock and whatever metal and stone the people of District Thirteen have gathered to create space for everyone from other districts, and the people out from District Twelve still have those tired drawn faces, as they did coming out of the mines; the only recognition Joe receives are silent double-takes and a few sharp whispers, the _"is that him, our tribute? Nah, can't be, there wasn't even a proper winner announcement!"_ until the high-energy misbehaving pup sends the loudest greeting possible through the crowd.

"John!" Joe calls. People have parted and he sees a little beagle, floppy brown ears and sweet white face, low to the ground, tight body - and behind, attempting to wrangle her is his brother, who looks so much older, somehow; his rich brown hair is longer, almost curling on top, and he's not so quietly fading into the background. 

No, he stops, and freezes, and stares, his hand on the beagle's back and head shooting up, disbelieving. "I - Joe...?" His voice is slightly trembling, squeaks as his fingers curl in the dog's fur, and her face goes up, hair rising, head forward in concern. "Hey, Frankie, it's okay, good girl," he catches the end of her lead and stands up, blinking rapidly, swaying a bit. 

Joe smiles as best he can, spreading his arms. "Hey, kiddo. Told you I'd be back to play catch, didn't I? It's a bit of a change in scenery but I'm sure we can find a ball. You brought your glove with you, right?"

John says nothing, only stares - his lips are trembling and his face crumples. With a blur of movement he's launched himself at Joe, pressing his face into his older brother's chest and gasping. "Joe, oh my god - Mom thought you were, we - people said you were, that you had to be dead!" 

Joe's stomach drops into his feet and he feels like he's been punched directly in the heart. "I'm so sorry, they must not have said who was alive," Joe cannot believe, he can't bear to imagine what that had done to his mother. He presses his face into his little brother's hair and strokes the back of his head before stepping back a bit. John doesn't let go of him. Joe registers that he's still thin, but taller, jeez he's growing like a weed - and his body is violently shaking. "Ah, Johnny. Hey, I'm not dead, okay? And this is my buddy Gwil, we were both in the Arena, but he's alive too, see?" 

Gwilym's eyes are warm and bright and a trifle misty as he smiles and lifts his hand to John. "Hullo, John," he says gently. "It's really great to meet you."

"Y-you too," with a hiccough and another look at Joe, John wipes his eyes and lets go of him. "But, Joe, someone won. We've been seeing on the television. There are TVs here," his face almost lights up over the novelty. "For each family, even. But we - we've been seeing, and we came here with his Gram, and this is Frankie, his dog. We thought he was with you but-"

"John, whoa," Joe puts his hands on his brother's shoulders. "Just breathe, buddy. Who did you see who was with me?" Though the way his heart is beating, as much as his chest hurts, he thinks he might know. Gwil reaches out and takes hold of his arm.

John sucks in a breath and looks up at him, saying in his straightforward innocent way "Your, your partner in the Arena. He's on TV, in the Capitol. The really nice baker guy, Ben."

***

Joe and Gwil introduce Sami and his mother as the family of another friend from the Arena, and the rest is a whirlwind - John takes them all back through the district area to their family cubicle, and the one next door where Ben's gram is living. Virginia practically screams at the sight of her son, sucks in air and presses her hands to her face. His sister Mary is instantly in tears.

There are hugs, and more hugs, and Joe is so confused, bamboozled, almost. He finds it hard to look Ben's grandmother in the face at first, she has the same sweet round cheeks and kind ocean-hued eyes. She is no-nonsense, scooping up Frankie and patting Joe's hand with her wrinkled one. "This boy must be so confused," she looks at everyone. "They both certainly are. We know what's been happening here," she extends her hand to Virginia, John, Mary, Mrs Malek and Sami, who they recognize as fellow refugees. Virginia invites all of them inside warmly and makes some coffee. (And Mary murmurs to Joe, "I thought he looked ...like, your friend, Joey. The one who..." She bites her lip and puts her arm around him then, without finishing the sentence as his eyes fill with tears.)

Ben's grandmother starts to tell the story of the talkers, those people her grandson previously heard about round the district. The fact they had been learning about the Capitol's possible plans, and had convinced as many people from District Twelve and the other members of outlying districts as possible to go into the woods with them.

"I got out along with this girl," Gram says, scratching Frankie's soft ears. The little dog's tail thumps against the side of the couch and her tongue lolls as she opens her mouth. Looks like she's smiling. "but the smoke really got into me lungs, not good. I was out early, stretching me legs, y'know. Just got over an ague an' old bones get stiff if you don't use 'em!" Joe's mom had been out also that morning, preparing to leave with the other families (most of which had been right ready to depart, having suspected the Capitol was going to retaliate in some form or fashion) "... Figure it had something to do with you boys together in that awful Arena," she presses her lips together and pats Joe on one knee, features crinkled with kindness.

"I told her we had to go," Joe's mother says, "and that hopefully the miners would get your friend Ben's parents out, they were going to do a final sweep."

"My son and daughter-in-law have strong thoughts on duty," Gram continues. "They also have some...rather backwards ideas about their son." Something sparks in the depths of her eyes, making them darker. "When we watched those Games," she sighs, waving a hand about. "They both believed his - what they saw as 'frivolity' had brought destruction on this country, well. My daughter-in-law was more vehement, and her husband couldn't - but. ...Never mind that." Her lips work. "At least my Benji is still alive."

But look what that had done, they didn't leave, and - oh, Ben. Poor Ben. Joe looks around at everyone with wide eyes, not knowing, for once, what to say. "That's awful," is all he manages. And then "Yeah, I...I hear there have been - shows, I guess. Interviews? After the Games, with Ben, and I... That's why you didn't think you'd see me," Joe looks at his mother for confirmation and Virginia pulls him into her side, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

"I always had hope, Joey," she murmurs. "This world is dark, but every bit of light is precious." She cups his face in her hands and looks on him with love. "And you, my dearest Joe, are such a powerful source of light."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a lot, basically everybody is crammed into the Mazzello house (which is actually like this one room with a couch and a table and TV and then there's a tiny bed nook for all of them attached at the back)
> 
> Hopefully it's still coherent, I think people started figuring out the Capitol was cracking down, and then shit literally WENT down with the firebombing, which, like the book, killed people still left in the district. And I'm sorry for what it will do to Ben, but... His parents were two of them.
> 
> How's it going out there? Still trying to limit the dump of angst so it doesn't fall all at once and crush us ;P
> 
> Next few chapters will get tough, brace yourselves
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	31. The Fires of Hell Will Take You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References to torture by the Capitol

All are still sitting in the cube, when suddenly the Capitol music begins and the television screen brightens. At the same time John looks up at his mother and says, scrambling to stand "It's about time for third meal, should I go get ours and Mrs Jones's, Mom?"

Virginia smiles at him and strokes his hair. "Yes John, go ahead, honey," she says. John nods and bounces to the door, far more animated even than he'd been upon their first sight of him - because his big brother is back, Gwilym reasons with a warm feeling that makes it hard for him to keep from smiling as well.

"Just a tick, you don't have to get mine, dear, but if you do, just bring it by here and we can pool our rations together. I have a feeling this is going to be a good segment today," Gram says, her cheeks crinkling as the intro to Mike Myers' show spins onto the screen.

"I'll go with you, get our rations, Ma," Sami says and Virginia offers for them to stay to watch the show. 

"It's no trouble, you've got to finish your coffee anyway," she says, and looks to Joe, sitting beside Gram and petting Frankie. Gwilym has stood up and says he is sure he needs to go get his own rations as well.

"I don't know where I ought to go, I'm not certain where people from my district would be, since I'm the only one from Four thus far...," Gwil moves as if to leave, and Joe's body tenses instantly. His mother notices.

"Oh, Gwilym, you are most welcome to stay," she says. "We'll need another room for Joe, it's tight for the three of us to stay in the same little sleeping space already." She gestures to Mary, John, and herself. "But you and Joey can stay, next door if you'd like - I don't want you alone. Your mother would understand that, I should think."

Gwilym nods a bit, smiles. "My mother would appreciate this, you asking me to stay, yes. My father would as well. But are you sure? I don't want to impose upon you in any way, you've just got your family back, well." He looks over at Joe, and then sees the Mazzello matriarch suck in air and nod, her thin cheeks tightening a little. She blinks what appears to be moisture from her eyes and smiles, the way her son often does, Gwil thinks. A sweet lady. 

"Well," she reaches out and pats his arm before speaking quietly. "With what you did for my Joe in the Arena, and it's clear how he feels about you from even this bit of time, I'd say you are family, Gwilym."

Gwil covers her hand with his and blinks rapidly. "I... Thank you," he pauses in emotion.

"Virginia," she tells him, reaching up with her free hand to cup his cheek affectionately. "Call me Virginia."

"Alright, Virginia," Gwilym clears his throat and nods. "Then, well, you must call me Gwil." 

Virginia smiles in such a sweet way, eyes crinkling a lot like her son's, that Gwilym feels his own eyes fill with tears in earnest. He is so glad to have met Joe, to get to know him, and be with his family; to know Ben, and Allen, and Rami; and his dear Lucy he's known so long. If only she were here, she and Ben... Gwil inhales and stands straight, hearing the voice of Mike Myers in all its dramatic glory. Myers's bouffant haired head floats and bounces across the screen as his northern-accented voice calls out what has become his catchphrase, "it's just for funzies!" Before the roaring crowd ushers in his literal entrance to settle into a deep chair. A bright couch is across from where he starts a monologue about the power of Panem, the excitement of this year's Hunger Games, and his discussion of the current situation in the districts.

"...And now," he calls, "Gentlefolk, we've got a special treat today! As you know, we've been hearing from our tributes on the front lines...for the first time ever we can say TRIBUTES, plural; and one of them has a very special message for us. Everybody, please put your hands together --for Lucy Boynton and Ben Jones!"

There are roars from the crowd and Gwilym's ears roar as well; he finds himself with his arms around Joe from behind without realizing he had moved. Lucy's head is shining under the lights, her pale beautiful skin, which...so much more of it is being seen because "Good god, she's bald, her head's been shaved!" Gwil's hand clenches and Joe grabs onto his wrist as those bright eyes of Lucy's pan across the camera. She has deep circles underneath barely concealed by makeup; her face looks almost puffy as though from tears. And her hand is around Ben's elbow, his arm. The sides of his head look cut, scabbed over, it seems; tuft of blond hair remaining on the top of his head. He walks tentatively, as though on eggshells, his full lips pressed tightly together as he bends to help Lucy to a seat on the couch. His gaze flashes too, with something sharper than pain as he too sits, adjusting the suit, the same-- Joe lets out a strangled sound-- the same opalescent suit Ben wore on the night before they went into the Arena. It looks darker at the wrists than before, and Gwilym's eyes squint, he leans forward to try to see, and then Ben links his fingers together in his lap as if intending to hide the color. He smiles as Myers speaks.

"So, Lucy and Ben, back again!" Myers crows, beaming at the pair as if nothing is wrong. "You're both here, enjoying the luxury of our Capitol after the Hunger Games, which is unprecedented, I might add. How are you finding this? Especially with what is happening in the districts, so dangerous." The talk show host dramatically shudders. "I can hardly imagine."

Ben looks at Lucy, whose chin has risen, and he leans forward, one arm gentle around her back. Joe feels a lump in his throat as Ben shifts in his seat. He looks so uncomfortable, so stiff and tight, but "... I'd rather be there than here," his voice is low and rough in its deep timbre, and he adds "I mean, I made it out of the Arena, I'm adept with dealing with danger at this point, right?" He gives an elaborate wink, his entire demeanor changing to boisterous and witty and charming rather than dangerous. The crowd roars and cheers, there are squeals and screams.

Just like the first time he was interviewed, Joe thinks, and feels sick. He looks at Gwil, who looks at him, and rubs Joe's back with his hand that Joe isn't clutching the wrist of. Virginia has come quietly over to stand at Joe's opposite side, next to the couch. Joe looks at Ben's grandmother, suddenly wondering what she thinks of this. 

Gram's eyes have narrowed a bit as continuing, Myers says "Well well, we have a tribute who's ready to deal with aaallll the danger for our sakes! What a brave man, don't you think so? Hahahaha!" He leans in, baring his teeth in what looks like a predatory grin, and says "So, I've heard there's something going on in an old abandoned district, say, number thirteen?" Myers waggles his eyebrows. "And there are some people there who...well, the scuttlebutt says some of your fellow tributes were taken, and may be forced to cause some... danger. So we may have to stop them, as a nation, in order to protect people. What do you say about that, Ben?"

It is as if the air has left lungs as the camera zooms in on Ben's soft face, those sweet eyes that look dark, haunted even as he smiles. The small lump on the side of his nose appears more prominent, almost raw somehow. His eyes stare into the camera as he says "Heh. Well, Mister Myers, what I would want to say to everyone in the districts, including District Thirteen, is-" nostrils flaring Ben licks his lips and continues "Are you sure you want to do this, mates? It's -a lost cause, there's no way to stop...the Capitol's firepower, and-- Joe--" Joe feels as if he's turned to ice as Ben speaks his name. He's moved without thinking, shivers running down his spine. "If you're out there, you and Gwil- you could be in danger, real danger." Ben grunts, clenches his teeth as though he's physically struggling for words, or against words. He turns his face to the side, shuddering.

"...Ben?" Myers has the gall to sound legitimately concerned. "Are you alright, lad?"

There are sounds from behind them, off camera, murmuring. Joe is almost touching the screen, hands clammy, as Gram is saying "Come on, Benji boy, fight them. You can do it, dear."

"Come on, Ben," Gwil whispers, and

"Benny," Joe breathes.

Ben's eyes shoot open as if he has somehow heard them, and he blurts "Yes, Mike, I am." Tries to smile again, and swallows hard. "I want to, need to say, to warn that everyone in Thirteen--" he lets out a wrenching, awful gasp and finishes "will be dead by morning!"

A furious voice roars _"END IT!"_ as Myers gapes and the entire audience explodes. The broadcast shorts out and cuts off, and everywhere in District Thirteen for a split second is dead silence.

A little noise at the door precedes a thump of foodstuffs falling to the floor and a small voice, John's. "...Mom? What's going on?" Sami stands beside him in the doorway.

Virginia looks at and then runs to him, holding out her hand to her other son "Joe--"

And at that moment, alarms begin to blare all throughout the tiers of District Thirteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's hitting the fan, guys. Hope the action is realistically paced. I'm freaking out a bit, poor Lucy and Ben. And Gwil and Joe and everyone else seeing these things...
> 
> Yet another cliffhanger, whoops
> 
> Oh yeah, and Roger is going to have a reaction along with Brian
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	32. Listen to the Mad, Listen to the Mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger and Brian have a chat, and there's a bit of help for Joe.
> 
> WARNING for panic and references to past torture experienced

"What's going on?!"

"Bloody hell--!"

Alarum bells continue blaring and echoing tones from out of speakers hidden somewhere on the ceilings blast the news of an imminent attack, everyone must go to the tunnels, the cave below the district. Mary grabs coats and blankets, and picks up the food they can eat without cooking from where John had dropped it. Virginia beckons for Gram and Frankie "Just come on with us," she says.

"Right-o," replies Gram, scooping up Frankie and taking Joe's hand. "Let's go, laddie," she says to him. "My Benji told us to run." 

Joe's head slowly turns to look at her, his features flat and immobile, no emotion save for devastation in his eyes. But he blinks as she grips his hand in hers and he looks into those sharp blue-green eyes. "Yes," he says. Adds a slightly strangled scream "--we've gotta go. Sami, Mrs Malek--"

"Right behind you," Rami's mother says.

"Always wanted to follow a bunch of people into a terrifying dark hole," Sami adds. "It's on my bucket list."

At that, John wails once, he's still young and even if he's gotten more animated and all, along with dealing with so much since his brother left to be in the Hunger Games, this is too much. Joe, still holding onto Gram, reaches out to him. "Johnny,"

But long limbs reach the boy first and a gentle voice says "It's okay, you'll be alright, lad." Gwilym's bright eyes are looking down into John's, he's run to the boy and scoops him up, holding tight. "Your brother's said I'm family, so hang on to your Uncle Gwil, yeah? Hold tight and shut your eyes if you need to, and when you open them again we'll be safe under the floor, okay? In like, a...a big stone castle." He looks to Virginia, who nods and herds everyone out into rushing throngs of people heading downward. John buries his face into Gwil's neck and does as is suggested. "Good boy," the district four tribute breathes, his own voice trembling only the tiniest. "We're gonna be okay."

***

"They're all bloody idiots," he snaps.

"Rogie, they're doing their best. You cannot simply put this place down for the fact that it is shepherding its citizens into the cellarage," Brian reasons.

"Oh come off it, this isn't the root of the fucking problem, Brian! I haven't got an issue with it, I just have a beef with the fact that the only reason anybody here knows ANYTHING is because that brave boy gave us a signal!" Roger dodges past groups of soldiers trying to herd people down stairs ("'Scuse us, sorry about this" Brian says to everyone Roger barrels past, ever-polite bastard - as if he can move everything out of the vicinity of his friend's righteous rage with sheer decency and politeness).

"We should be on our knees thanking Ben, I know it," Brian nods vigorously. "But Rog, shouting isn't going to get us anyplace."

"Did you not SEE him, Brian?!" Roger practically screeches, grasping his own hair til it stands in even higher spikes. "and Lucy? D'you know what the Capitol is doing to them? Because I know, I can fucking tell and if you're going to tell me to stop shouting--"

Brian shakes his head, ebony curls flying, eyes full of tears. He covers his face with a shaking hand. "Rogie, please don't-"

"...I know what they're doing, because they did it to Fred, they tried it on me, and--"

"Roger...,"

"And just because they couldn't get to you, because you were already going through your own personal version of hell with demons even worse than the ones they conjure doesn't mean I can't make a stink about those bastards! What else are they going to get away with before we stand up--"

Slamming through doors and down more staircases and lifts, people look at this stocky crimson-faced blond and his rail-thin onyx haired companion who is white as a sheet. 

"--if we don't stand up and fight directly some way, there won't be anything new, it'll just be coercion and subversion and fucking murder getting covered up again and again and again until we're a pair of ancient codgers sitting round wondering why there's no country left. And I'm going to be sitting there with you," waving away a guard shooing he and Brian into the grotto impatiently, Roger continues "because let's face it, Bri, we're never going to be rid of each other. Yet we'll be there wondering..."

"What we've done to the world we devastated," Brian bursts out, voice nearly gone. _Right to the bone._ He is trembling so hard that everything about him is shaking, and Roger instantly puts out his arms. "No-- Rog, we-- I can't do this, I don't know...," Brian gasps, hunching over, reaching out an arm. He looks already ancient, suddenly, as though he's aged fifty years in these last minutes. "I don't know what you want me to say," he gasps, and crumples.

Into Roger's well-muscled arms, because the shorter man is strong, and he's there, he's always there for Brian. "Easy now," that irascible voice is such a soft and gentle growl though it had been shrieking like an avenging angel of destruction only moments ago. "Let's sit down, I've got you. Take some breaths, mate, c'mon." 

They sink to the floor together. Around them other people are doing the same, bringing blankets and lamps and food along, some of them. Brian feels as though his ears have been stuffed with cotton as he sits down, feels cold. A hard surface beneath him, but warmth beside. Roger's warmth. Despite everything he'd said, or rather, shouted, those sentiments paralysing Brian's brain, he still feels Rog beside him and grabs his best friend by the hand. 

He doesn't think he's ever letting go. Doesn't know that he can.

***

"Here, Gram, I'm sorry there's no tea."

Mary offers Ben's grandmother a cup, and is offered a smile that crinkles the eyes of the elderly lady. "Nonsense, dear, don't you worry. The fall of an empire doesn't depend upon a cup of tea." She sips the beverage she is given and leans towards Joe, who puts a blanket round her. "Not solely, anyhow," she says.

Joe sits down, more like plops. "...How can you be so calm?" He asks. "I, we saw your grandson, and he was..."

"He's fighting," Gram says. "He's always been a tough one, my Benji. Tougher than he knows. Than anybody knows, I think." Sipping again, she adds "And he is not alone. You helped him, I know that. You are someone who keeps him fighting."

Joe blinks and looks up at her, as he has sat down on the floor, having piled other blankets and things to provide a seat. His mother, Gwil, and Sami are making more. "But I...but Ben saved me," he clears his throat, fluttering his hands. "He was the one who initially got me fighting again, after--well after my dad died." Gram sits silently, listening. Frankie sniffles over and turns around a couple times before crawling into Joe's lap. He moves his arms in surprise and then puts a hand on her warm back as he tells Ben's grandmother about the time Ben saved him with bread and hope (Ben always said he was alone, but he's wrong, Joe thought, because he's got the best grandma on the planet. And an awesome dog). "He gave me hope," Joe tells her now, "even if it was just a little thing to him, he helped me. I mean, apparently it was actually a big thing because his mom got mad and he wasn't allowed to bake bread ever again, so." Joe looks up as John comes over to sit and nestle beside him after Gwil has done talking to John in a soothing voice. Gwil sits too, right behind Joe, and he leans back into the other as Gwil automatically wraps his limbs around him. John snuggles up almost in his lap. And this is hope, Joe thinks now, having trailed off and looked around at all the people, Sami and his mom, and Mary going around talking, offering water. Some people from one of the other districts have a bunch of extra food they are willing to share; and he swears that he hears someone singing.

"Yes," Gram says, "My dear gave you hope, and hope spreads, because people are resilient. There is so much we can do in this country, in this world, to provide a little light." As if on cue, there are strange high sounds and then heavy crashing. Sounds of explosions. The lights flicker and somebody screams, but low and rising is conversation; people are helping each other here. 

Joe wasn't sure at first, he almost wanted to be done, even as he told the leader and Hollander that he wanted to help. But somehow being here in the midst of a bomb raid, or whatever else the Capitol can think to throw at its disobedient citizens, Joe contemplates what Gram says. "You're a wise lady, Mrs Gram Jones," he says, actually smiling. He hears Gwil chuckle at him and John is right beside. Looks up and catches Sami's eyes, reminding him of the light that Rami brought - and that he does too, he and his mom. That Joe should be at peace. 

He breathes, and wonders. He can try. Just as he can throw everything he's got in his arsenal at the Capitol. It's a metaphorical arsenal, but still. He can do something to get their attention.

Joe stands up all of a sudden, catching Gwil out and startling John. "Where you going?" 

"I need to find Roger." If anyone can make a scene and get attention, it's Roger Taylor. "And Brian. At least, after this." Brian, who can be diplomatic if anything needs to be calmed down. Joe doubts the need for that in these times, but it's good to have a backup plan. "...And I need to tell Singer and Hollander that I'm ready to, well, fight the Capitol propaganda. Possibly with our own propaganda." 

Gwil's eyes get wide and then wider. "You and Roger coming up with a plan to bash the Capitol by giving a taste of its own medication? Oh, this I have _got_ to see."

Joe's smile now wavers. "And I uh, hoped that hashing out ideas like that would...get one cooking that'd help us save our friends."

John looks from his big brother to Gwil as they both experience a simultaneous swell of emotion and begin to blink rapidly. 

Gwil bites his lip, looks at Joe with tears tracking silently down his cheeks. He reaches out and takes Joe's hand, holding it in his. "Yeah," he nods. "I'll hope that happens too. I'll hope really hard."

"So will I, Joe," says John, and hugs his big brother tightly. Joe hugs back, dropping a kiss onto the top of John's head. Gram nods in approval, and Frankie yips as though she is joining in the hope as well.

For once Joe hasn't got anything to say, except "Thank you, Gram, Gwil, Frankie." His smile isn't so hopeless this time as he ruffles his brother's hair and laughs at John's automatic shove and groan. "Thanks Johnny."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who is the mad one must listen to in this chapter? Hmm...who knows?
> 
> There is a bit of divergence from Haymitch for Roger this chapter because I thought a bit more about Finnick, esp what he tells Katniss about himself in Mockingjay. I'm also working on some characters to help Joe with his choices.
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	33. But Still I Fear and Still...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of memories and dreams
> 
> Intense images and emotional outbursts before and because of a nightmare described below

The denizens of District Thirteen remain cloistered in the hollows of the halls of stone beneath. John finds something to make into a toy for Frankie and plays an almost-game of catch with her to stay occupied as all remain longer. Someone (or several someones) had carried down a portable cooker and others begin to compile food together to make a meal for everyone. The various fare from each district with citizenry here turns the meal into a guessing game of epic proportions, as well as quite the taste test.

People band together to make all sorts of meals. Even the guards come off official shift and disregard stasis orders from Singer in order to eat as well. Joe walks around with Mary and John and Gwil, and as he does somehow their banter reminds him of times with their father, though Gwil's sense of humour is uniquely his own, he is as goofy and vibrant as Joe's dad was. Understated often, yet witty. He recalls that first night they'd all met - when talking about their districts, Gwil had spoken of a nicer neighborhood in District Four called, apparently, 'The End'. "Oh that sounds really nice, place is gone and done, no beginning. Great name for a good part of the district. Did people seriously not think about what the Capitol does if we're naming places after endings?" 

Joe had died laughing as Gwil took a second to chuckle. "You're right, maybe it isn't the most uplifting moniker," he said. 

"Should call it Start or something," Ben had suggested cheekily.

"I'll get right on starting a petition when I get back home," Gwil grinned. It had been so easy, them teasing and ribbing one another.

"Oh really? I didn't think anyone would listen to you, mate."

"Don't think they'd even notice , not unless there's a shortage of tall people in your district." 

"Whoah whoah whoah, what's my height got to do with this? Way to bring on the low blows, boys!"

"Don't'cha mean high blows?"

"Unless low in this case means dirty," Ben had gotten cheekier as the night went on and the more drinks he'd had. 

"You wound me, Ben!" Gwil had cried, clutching his heart. "I'm the cleanest bloke alive, you want dirty I think I'd talk to Joe." He rose his eyebrows then and Joe had done too after a split second.

"Yeahhh that's true, I've got a dirty mind," Joe sing-songed. Everyone had groaned then, Gwil covering his face and Ben laughing into his glass. Lucy had clinked hers against Joe's. He laughs now over the words and is hit by the surety these people are the best friends he has. Honestly, as he has ever had.

After the all-clear is called and everyone herded back up to their tiers, Joe's mother speaks to the head of their district, the one they've got as their mayor on interim - well, actually the wife of the original mayor. Mary informs Joe of the nervous breakdown their mayor had. "Oh yeah, because of all his schmoozing up to the Capitol, he couldn't believe they'd bomb us after a couple of his constituents started canoodling during the Hunger Games, huh?" Joe snorts. "Figures." 

But whatever the reason she is in power, he gets set up with a room next to his family's, and he is allowed to share with Gwilym because two people per room is expected. Plus it's best for the limited amount of space, no one can feasibly live alone in District Thirteen. As Roger discovered after he was forcibly taken off to bed by Brian when it was discovered his friend had snuck a drink into the bowels of the district - never mind where he found any alcohol - though he'd gone and gotten some even before the Myers show. Roger sways and slurs out a swearword as Brian grasps him by the waist and takes him to a room "What th' bloody hell is this?" The mentor slurs. 

"It's the place you're staying to sleep this off," Brian helps Roger over the threshold into their little room and closes the door. "Honestly, Roger, why must you do this?" Brian whirls, curls flying as Roger loses his balance when the other lets him go for the briefest instant. He catches his friend and helps him to a seat on the sofa.

"Augh, sod off, Bri," Roger grumbles. "Whaddya wan' me to say?" He roughs up his hair, trying to smile, tossing his sunglasses and adding "Y' wan' me to regale you with my exploits like me and Freddie did in the old days? Eh? You wanna be 's close as we were?" Roger's eyes are getting red-rimmed, or already were from drinking, but are more so. His face is flushing as his teeth bare and those bright blue eyes war with the red. "Well I DON'T want that, because it isn't fucking worth it!" Roger screams out. "You know why? Freddie's GONE, Bri! He's gone, and so is John, and they're never coming back so why can't we just -" he stops, hand covering his face. "...I just want to forget. I drink to bloody forget, and then your stubborn arse stays round to make me remember!" He chokes, both hands buried in his hair, holding his face so his next words are an inarticulate mumble. But Brian is certain at least two of them were 'fuck off'.

Brian is trembling. Roger's words had hit him like knife wounds stabbed into his very core, and now Roger is drunk and sobbing but the agony in his voice rings true, and hurts Brian so he cannot do anything but collapse into a chair across from his dearest friend who he's known so long as to expect his tirades, to hear all the things Roger shouts, but still, when Roger vents his emotions there is always something that hits and hurts. Rog doesn't let things out to Bri. Not like he had to Freddie; they'd been something like soulmates. Could see into the heart of each other without a word, almost. But they also talked to each other about anything and everything. Sometimes sat up giggling half the night. Brian has always known that it cannot possibly be the same for him and Roger in his own heart, but Rog's present words put it in his head.

All he can think is to get away, go out for a moment. But Roger is crying, in so much pain; what he saw of Lucy and Ben had broken him, put cracks - no, holes in the dikes blocking up those painful memories, the places in his brain that Brian cannot fully know. He'd seen some, learned enough when watching Rog's Games the once, and then again when he was able to use some skills John taught him to see the videotape later on. With John, as it had been before his Games. Bri never forgot the look on his young friend's face, this frozen horror and hopelessness as they saw Roger win, cutting down everyone "by sheer dumb luck" as he always said. Some luck. John had been shaking, he'd let Brian hold onto him after but hadn't said a word; and Bri never told Roger or Freddie what they'd seen. Though Fred had wondered what got his Deacy even more quiet, Brian knew that Roger would have strung him up if he learned Bri saw the tape and showed it to John as well. So the stylist never told.

Yet he understood Roger a bit better after that, some of what made him so vehement and guarded; he knew Rog lost everyone he loved in the Games and after their conclusion, the string of relationships and children, all ended, long gone. Long away, whether by the Capitol's means or his; but Bri has never gotten to talk to Roger about any of it. Not really, not till he'd finally mustered up and asked for something, anything, and thus he got ...this.

He cradles Roger now, and finds a blanket to tuck around his friend, who has fallen into a stupor. Roger isn't asleep, not entirely, as he makes a sound when Brian picks him up and carries him to their sleeping space, still wrapped in the blanket. He adds another as he strokes the hair off Roger's forehead, feeling the crust of salt on his best friend's soft cheeks and feeling his heart break again - how many times it has already done in his life, Brian doesn't know; yet he feels the agony anew, as well as the cold. He shuts off the light and whispers that he will be back. He's got something made for Joe and Gwilym's use that he hadn't given to them before, and wants to give it to them as well as see how they are. How can they be, really, after what was on telly today? What a ridiculous notion, Brian, he chides himself as he gathers up things for them and exits his and Roger's cubicle, following signage for the tier that houses the residents of District Twelve.

***

Joe paces back and forth across his and Gwil's bedroom as Gwilym stretches his own arms up, not even able to completely straighten them before reaching the ceiling. "Wow," Joe shakes his head with a whistle as he props hands on hips. "If you had told me one day I'd feel nostalgic for our house in Twelve where the first floor was basically dirt and nothing ever hung straight, I'd say you were out of your mind. But this..." He lifts a hand.

"It leaves something to be desired, sure," Gwilym nods, eyes soft with remembering. "For me it's the sound of the sea. But not just that, it's the smell. Like salt, and crispness of wind. And something that almost catches in your throat, half taste, half smell. Of fish and seaweed. Warmth, and the harsh cry of a seagull, that chucking screeching sound..." He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck as the skin upon his sharp cheekbones flushes red. "I, well. I love the sea," he says as Joe stares at him. And then, quieter, "...and I miss my district."

"No kidding, man," Joe grins. "That was beautiful. You should totally write poetry or something, Gwil. I'm serious," he adds, stepping over, curling his hand around the taller man's arm. "It's something..." Joe huffs air from his nose and turns away, paces to his bed and stops. Drops to sit on it. "I've been thinking about what could happen if I worked here to help with the rebellion. Like Singer and Mister Hollander said. Maybe, I mean you could probably see the ocean again if I did. You could go home again." 

Gwilym is nodding, features open and intent on Joe's as he listens to him. What a decent soul, who still worries for others and wants them to go home, even as Joe himself cannot. Gwil walks over to stand beside, and Joe pats the bedspread to invite him to sit down. "Thank you," Gwil settles beside him. "I'd love that, I really would. And I hope that I can someday go back home, but we really don't know what lies ahead." He smacks his lips, shifting towards Joe and then away with his knees as he thinks aloud. "I mean, I understand you wanting to help. I do. And I'm with you whatever you decide, but." Hauling in a breath and resting his light eyes on Joe's face, Gwil softly says "...I just, based especially on - what we saw today, Lucy and Ben -" Joe flinches. "I'm sorry, mate, but I think things will get worse before they get better. And if the Capitol knows you and I are here, part of the rebellion...," He leaves off, but Joe's wide eyes tell Gwil the other knows where he was going. 

"What else will they do to them? I mean, god, Gwil, you saw Lucy's hair. And Ben. He - there were bruises on his wrists, I saw them."

Gwil is nodding, leaning into Joe with a shudder without even thinking. "They're both so thin," he adds. "What - what has the Capitol done to them?"

"...If you want to know, I could tell you from speculation, but regardless, it's nothing good," a gentle voice emanates from the doorway to their sleeping room, and both young men look up to see the sorrowful smile and riot of ebony hair.

Brian.

***

"I'm so sorry to intrude," the tall man ducks his head, apologetic as he jerks a thumb back towards their main door. "But your front door was ajar. I still knocked on it, but doubtless you hadn't heard, so I came in. I... brought you both something." He shifts his arms and holds up a bundle of clothing that he separates. "I took the liberty of locating your sizes, Gwil. Whilst in the Capitol plane before we lost contact with their interface on the way here. They're pyjamas," he says as both men take the clothes. "I can make something else...we just couldn't get anything much of your costumes or everyday clothing before being taken here, I'm afraid. I do still have my design notebook, so if there are supplies I'll be able to make more clothes for you here. Keep meself busy," he smiles, lips curving hopefully, eyes crinkling even as his features start to fall as though he's unsure. "Only if you'd like, of course. You're free to tell me to sod off, after all it's --after the Hunger Games. What d'you need a stylist for?" He folds in, almost, long fingers fluttering as he ducks and says "anyway, erm. Hope these are nice, I'll find out what the dress code is here tomorrow."

"Brian," utters Gwil as the other turns to leave. Awe is in his voice. "These are wonderful, thank you so much." His chin wobbles. "And you aren't even my stylist," he adds.

"Ah, that's alright," Brian says.

"And they're soft," Joe says, holding his tight. "I'll finally be able to get out of these Arena clothes! Besides, if I'm gonna go put in my decision to help the rebellion, I'll need some killer clothes - even killer queen," he winks and nearly freezes at the thought of the last person he was with when referencing that - but Joe shakes his head and lunges forward, wrapping his arms around Brian in a hug. "You're the best, Brian!"

Brian is shaking as Gwil joins the hug too, and he presses his face into their hair as in his heart he thanks these boys over and over for appreciating him, for little things that aren't so special, it's just what he can do, is all, and he knows it isn't nearly enough - he cannot save anyone from dying with a needle and thread. But by golly if these two haven't said something Brian is so grateful to hear. For something he'd done for them was meaningful.

If only he could do something as meaningful for Roger.

***

How long after, he doesn't know, but Bri leaves Joe and Gwil to their nighttime rituals and returns with trepidation to his and Roger's quarters. He expects perhaps to help Rog to the loo or get his friend some water before trying unsuccessfully to get some rest himself. Or perhaps Rog won't be awake and he'll deal with stony silence. 

What he hasn't prepared for are dreams.

Nightmares, more like. Brian comes in to hear something akin to keening, not a wail or a whimper, but Roger is moaning that he knows, he knows now, what else can they do to him, fucking bastards - and then he shouts, he begs, and there is an enormous thud as Brian runs through their main room after closing the outer door to see Roger struggling with his blankets and the bed.

He's fallen mostly out of it, bright hair tangled and chest heaving. His knuckles appear scraped as he'd taken a swing at the side of the bed as he'd fallen off it, and his lower lip appears to be split as if he'd bitten it incredibly hard. His limbs are flying as sweat does too, he's fighting for his life, and Brian runs, he freezes first but then he runs and falls to his knees. "Roger," he says. "Roger! It's me, it's Brian, you're dreaming. You're having a nightmare, wake up, mate." _Please, wake up._ Resisting the urge to shake him, Brian begs "Come on!" 

Roger thrashes closer and Brian catches hold of him with both hands. He holds onto Roger's shoulders as the blond bucks and roars and "Sshh, Rogie, it's alright, it's me, I'm here," Bri tries to soothe, pulling his stocky friend almost into his lap, but Roger's fists are still flying and he clocks Brian in the head good. 

Bri yelps and lets go, and suddenly Roger scuttles like a crab and curls up as if hiding. He whimpers "No, oh I'm sorry, I don't, I didn't want to hurt you, but he - they -"

"You haven't," Brian is crawling on his belly now, reaching out and taking the hand of a shuddering Roger, who's pressed himself into the floor. Almost as if he intends to have it swallow him - no, no, come on and help him, Brian - "I promise that you haven't. I'm alright, Rog. You haven't hurt anybody tonight, you're drunk. And dreaming. Hey," his breath whooshes with relief as he shifts and Roger's eyes open, he jerks as he breathes and speaks in a rough voice, likely as a result of all his earlier shouting.

"...Brian?"

"Yes, it's me," Brian scoots right up to Roger and strokes back his sweaty hair, hand cupped around his friend's forehead as he blinks hard in relief. "Come on, I can get you back to bed, oof!" Roger of a sudden flings himself, face intent and jaw clenched. His whole body barrels into Brian's as he wraps his strong and sweaty arms around his friend, pressing his face into Bri's neck, bare chest in shirt. 

Brian's arms enfold Roger as the blond croaks out something that sounds like he's sore, or that he's sorry. Whatever it is, Brian hushes and rocks him, and something makes him press tender kisses to Roger's face after he rubs circles on his back. "It's okay, Rog," Brian whispers.

"...No, it's really fucking not," Roger snorts and sniffles, wiping his eyes on his arm and then pulling back enough to look at Brian after the other had left off his comforting kissing. "You're my best mate, and I've been awful, I'm such an arse. More than an arse. I, I can't open up, I'm a bloody mess, Brian. But I don't want you to leave me." Shifting his body fully into Brian's lean lap, which Bri accommodates for, Roger's voice breaks and he gets out after a single gulping almost-sob "Don't you fucking leave me. I need you, 'specially when my head's not on straight."

A tiny smile appears on Brian's face. "Oh, Roger, is it ever?" He murmurs, and blinks back his own tears as he rises to help his friend into bed again. "And as for bloody messes, join the club." Bri sits on Roger's bed, his heart aching as Rog cuddles up to him, throwing an arm around Brian's bony hip and clutching his ribcage. Roger needs him, and no matter what, Brian leans closer to whisper as he settles down with his own arm around Roger, hoping and praying that his presence can stave off more dreams "I, but Rogie..." _I love you_, the words almost pass his lips, he yearns to say them; but right now it's clear to Brian that his friend needs something else from him.

And so murmuring against Roger's warm skin and soft hair as they lie entwined together on the definitely-too-small-for-two-people bed, he promises "I'm not going to leave you. I'm staying right here."

_I'll always be right here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I promised in a comment, here is Roger angst and Brian dealing with it as Brian does
> 
> Brian is a sweetheart, Roger's freaking out, and Joe's going to rebel against the Capitol with help from Gwil! Yay!
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	34. I Dare Not Laugh

Joe thrashes as he's running, again, hauled up and pushed from behind to scrabble onto the hull of that horrible Horn, Ben is behind him, Allen bleeding out his life below; Joe's air leaves his lungs as Gwil's lanky body is up and he lunges almost off the side when Ben screams in pain, and his leg is bleeding freely from that horrible, horrific mutt bite but "I'm alright," he gasps in the next breath, rolling over to scramble to and stay by Joe; that bronzed skin, Lucy's bright hair -

And it's all transferred to pale thinness and bruises and the shine of a shaved pate, and -

"No!" Joe gasps out, rearing up and flying awake as he feels something touch his own head, but it's nothing like the dream. Gwil is sitting next to him, his long fingers pushing gently through Joe's hair. 

"Morning, Joe," Gwilym's voice is as gentle as his fingers are, and then at the sight of Joe's wild eyes and his chest heaving, "Oh, I'm sorry, mate, are you alright?"

Joe gulps, gasps, shakes his head. "It was a dream." Just a dream, only it wasn't just a dream at all because it's real, it's happened, it's reality and he doesn't know if he'll see Ben or Lucy again and -

"Hey, hey," Gwil's arms are wrapped around him now, moving to rest himself into Joe's side. Joe expels a tiny wail and buries his face in Gwil's shirt. "I know it's awful and it's real, but we're going to see them again, Joe. We will. We've got to." His jaw is clenched and eyes are fierce, but his voice breaks, and Joe's heart lurches. He hadn't realised he'd been speaking aloud, and how awful this is for Gwilym too - Lucy is his best friend.

"Oh god, Gwil," Joe's words are muffled by the other man's shirtfront and he sits up, looking into Gwilym's eyes. "I'm so sorry...,"

"This isn't your fault," Gwil wipes his thumbs across Joe's pale cheeks, leans his forehead against Joe's. "It's not, alright? I promise. You're the one who kept us going. You're amazing, Joe. And we're gonna keep going now, and help other people, yeah?"

Joe closes his eyes, letting out panting breaths as he tries to stop his shaking. Gwil holds on tight, pressing Joe into his chest and holding onto his head as he's moved to rest his chin upon Mazzello's soft hair. "...Yeah," Joe clears his throat and whispers at last. "We - we can do this, help Thirteen, and get our people back." _Somehow._ Joe withdraws from his place by Gwil's heart and looks into his eyes. Their warm bright depths beam down at him.

"That's my boy."

***

"We have another aspect of the rebellion that's coming via radio," Hollander says to Joe when he and Gwil hustle down to the room they were taken to the day before and burst through the door. Looking sharp in dark grey suits with light blue like a gentle ocean or the sky on Gwil and a fiery tie for Joe. Brian must have come back to their main room later - had they never fully fastened the door? - they rush to explain by talking all over each other that they are here and have decided they want to help. 

"I mean, as best we can with your propaganda videos or something, though I don't think I can fake anything much," Joe says to the man. "I mean, acting is one thing, but this is ... something else."

"It's our lives," Gwilym says, and Joe nods. 

"Exactly!" 

"Got to keep them in some bloody form or fashion, eh?" A grunt precedes the entrance of Roger, whose mobile face is not nearly so mobile today. He looks peaked and Brian, beside him, almost seems to be in pain. He smiles at Gwil and Joe, however, making a sort of motion and giving a thumbs-up at the sight of their clothes. He apologizes to the Gamemaker for interrupting with their entrance and gestures for Hollander to continue. 

"I was just going to say we have a good team and camera crew, so you won't have to worry. This is Dex, Fletch, Pam, Jen, Dennis, and Dom." Hollander opens the door and waves a group of people into the room, introducing them as "A director, camera and sound crew, and we've even got people good with numbers, like -"

"Dominique," Roger's voice is gentle and shocked as anyone has heard it before. It's unfathomable that he'd had a nightmare about everything and everyone he'd lost, and then today, somehow...

She looks at him with deep eyes and says in a tone rich and deadpan but with a bit of cheek "Bonjour, Roger."

"Whoa, you two know each other?"

"This is Dominique Beyrand, she's my -" Roger stops himself short because he doesn't quite know how to describe what they were, and it's not anyone's ruddy business besides.

"J 'te amor," Dom says. "We once shared a great love."

"I should direct that," Dex says to Fletch, in an exuberant tone. He has a bright face that looks buoyant constantly, as though he is getting ideas left right and centre, and Fletch takes out a pad of paper and writes something down for him.

Pam and Jen introduce themselves, as costumer and movement coach, and Dennis as a writer who works the camera with Fletch and Dom - "We'll have to see how you do with lines, I think. People responded so magnificently to your raw emotional state in the Games, though," Dennis' voice is a gentle quiet burr, and his eyes behind glasses are trained on Joe. "It was touching, what you did."

"--And that is what we need!" Dex calls across to them, bounding over and grabbing Joe's hands. Joe is surprised, Dex is someone from the Capitol, he thinks, but has an exuberant kindness reminiscent of a louder version of Brian. Joe thinks he can work with this group pretty well, or at the very least learn a lot from them.

"We can start here with the feelings of being in this place, cut off from the rest of Panem," the director puts in, others nodding. "A perspective from a pair of tributes, especially one used to being out on the open sea," they gesture now to Gwil, who bows his head gracefully. "... As our Gamemaker said, we've got some underground radio programs working and everyone wants more news. Certainly love what Mike Myers is giving us!" Gwil stiffens and Joe's smile no longer reaches his eyes. The group senses a change and dithers about before searching for the radio: "This is what we've been hearing so far."

A voice comes through the staticky dial _<"Hello there chaps and lasses, this is FL on the FM radio waves, and I'm here with my VERY little brother RT -">_

Tats and cymbal crash of drums introduce the other.

_<"- Yep that's him, dramatic music man like our dad, and he's here to provide entertainment and sound effects as I give ya the news of our rapidly changing world. Now, we've got ourselves a big deal here, folks. Some'a you are out there probably thinking there's no use in listening to this radio poo-poo -I say that for all the kiddies listening, alright R? Gotta limit swearing even though I swear we all need to know what's going down.">_

Two thumps on the bass drum and a cymbal crash precede a heavy sigh _<"...okay that was a trifle rough but what d'you want from me? Think you can do better? Yeah, that's what I thought. Go on, siddown.">_

A smile in the voice and then it's somber for the next bit. _<"There's rioting out there tonight. Stay safe, everyone. Six and Seven can probably use some inspiration from good ol' songs my boy will be playing for us at the end of this broadcast.">_ His brother starts a drumroll and _<"Right, right. We've got information coming in about a hospital started in Eight, patching people up after the fighting. Nice to see not everyone is using bombs. Got some real humanitarianism goin' on. I think third and fourth districts should just put the power to good use and skedaddle, know what I'm saying? -Shut up, Ruf, that is a word- right fine, hoist the colours and do a runner, you didn't hear it from me. All District Two is gonna do now is make luxury items for mass funerals.">_ Dead silence. _<"Was that too much? Well shite all over me, what we've gotta do, in the immortal sentiment of my father and his best mate, is keep ourselves alive!">_ there is a burst of cheers and clapping as obviously the radio host takes off his mic and holds it out to catch the sounds from the room around him.

_<"Thank you, thank you. I'm here until they catch me, or til my little sister gets her priorities straight about the fashion world. Til then I say goodnight, watch this radio light, and here we go, brother, give a little rendition of some choice words for the Capitol.">_

A jaunty tune starts up from a backing track and the brother takes on drums for it, coming in to sing as well:

_"'I make it half past six you come at seven, always try to keep me hanging round. You little spoilt thing girl you kept me waiting; never contemplating my point of view. This comes as no surprise - I'm a fool for I believed your lies. But now I've seen through your disguise - Who needs, well I don't need, who needs you? Oh, oh, who needs you? Oh I believed you, went on my knees to you, how I trusted you but you turned me down! But it's dog eat dog in this rat race, and it leaves you bleeding lying flat on your face! Reaching out, reaching out for a helping hand, where is that helping hand? Oh, ohhh..."_

"Heck," Joe is laughing so hard tears are in danger of streaming down his face as the radio broadcast ends. "You guys may not even need me, these guys are awesome!" 

"They're certainly brave," Gwilym adds, mouth scrunching up, lips twitching as he nods.

Roger is not so impressed. His eyes narrow and he is breathing hard. "...Where the fuck are they? And their sisters?" He demands. Both Joe and Gwil look at each other with quizzical eyes. No one mentioned multiple sisters, just the one into fashion design. But Roger is acting like he's certain, and the level of intensity he is showing is very much like something ...parental. Oh. "What in the hell possessed them, they can be caught!"

"It's an underground radio program for a reason, they are safe in anonymity," attempt at assurance is not reassuring to Roger. He takes Dom by the arm almost roughly.

"--Where's Debbie, and the girls?"

"Tiger is with Rufus and Felix, and Deb stayed with them. Rory and petit Lola are here, with me," she speaks as if none of these things would be a revelation, even though everyone in the room seems unclear on what is going on. Except Brian, whose whole body relaxes in relief after hearing the last two names and that they are with Dom. Roger seems to have frozen, blinking hard, and his voice is infinitesimal as he asks where the girls are here.

"In the infirmary," Dominique responds. "Rory is working." She pats his hand, which has slackened on her arm. "They are safe, cherie. I swear it."

Joe, still not entirely clear on what is going on - does Roger have kids or something? - speaks up. "Y'know it might be a good idea to start filming me seeing what's happening here, I mean. Seeing what's - the infirmary, and how people are working, it's powerful stuff, right?" He gulps a bit, thinking of his father, who could not be helped ...but no, this is different. And the team is looking at each other and nodding, Fletch has a camera and boom mic on him, and Dex says all they need is an introduction, which Pam provides as Dominique leads the way for a very intensely charging Roger, with Joe and Gwil and Brian behind.

*** 

"We're here in District Thirteen with two of the tributes of these last Games, who have used their grittiness and caring natures to facilitate survival. You may recall Joe Mazzello as someone who showcased an act of pure love to the world when he honored his ally in the Games."

"Friend," Joe says.

"Pardon?"

"Rami wasn't just an ally, he was my friend." Joe's voice is serious and almost sharp as Gwilym nods, puts a long hand on Joe's shoulder.

"He was mine too."

"Really?" Pam is taken aback, it appears.

"Really. And it wasn't about anything to us other than caring for someone. It means so much more to love and be loved than spread hate and fear to keep people in line," Gwil's eyes flicker from Pam to the camera itself and back into her face.

She still seems startled but her expression warms and softens. "You have a lot of love to give, then," she responds.

"Well we gotta do all we can," Joe smiles a trifle sadly, and then the camera and sound are taken up as through the door to the infirmary charges Roger, roaring.

"Rory Eleanor Taylor, where are you?!"

A very young voice cries out "Daddy!" And a skinny little girl whose hair is practically white-blonde jumps onto Roger, who catches her with an oof of breath, lifting her up as she covers his face with kisses.

"Lola Daisy May," he breathes, and the camera shows tension leaving his body. "Thank fuck you're all right."

"Language, Daddy!" She gasps and withdraws a bit, and the brightness of his face in response is something the others have never seen before. 

He rubs her nose with his and growls out "Sorry, sweetheart. You'll forgive me though, yeah?"

She appears somber but then another smile lights up her eyes. "Of course I will."

"... It's a good thing she can do so," a quieter voice speaks, musical, slight lilt present as a woman with large eyes and a personal protective mask enters the room wearing what passes for scrubs. Her hair is pulled back underneath a cap and she wears gloves. Her eyes seem harried and hurt and sad as she takes in the reunion. "Hi, Dad."

"Rory," Roger puts Lola down and turns to his eldest daughter, eyes taking in all of her as he steps closer, arms going out as if for a hug. "You doing okay?"

Automatically stepping back and raising her hands, "Don't touch me, I have to stay sterile. We have malnutrition and infection, and people coming in from district raids with limbs blown off. We have limited supplies and have to rely on what little people can bring themselves, or steal, sometimes. But yeah, I'm totally all right." Her voice takes on a sardonic tone "'Specially as I watch people succumb. We may need some mass gravesites soon, like Felix said, unless we can stop all of this." Roger clears his throat and lowers his eyes, causing Rory to notice the camera and microphone behind him. "Hang on, are you filming?!" Instantly shrinking for a second with shyness, she pulls herself together and snaps, pulling down her protective mask to show the entirety of her face, even as she remains at a distance. "That action includes all sorts of violations to the patients, and to me. If you're planning on asking to film in here, I would tell you absolutely not. These patients and their families have the right to keep their lives private, and--"

"I know that," Joe steps forward. "From experience, and thank you so much for being this way. There's no reason for us to film these people," he says, turning to face the camera crew, voice thick and full of emotion. "They're holding onto the littlest bits of hope they can, sitting together with their loved ones in so much pain. It's a privilege to see a doctor like you at the helm in this place." Joe sucks in air and blinks hard. "It gives _me_ hope. You're doing all you can." He sniffs and tries to smile. "I would shake your hand, but I know I can't do that. I'm Joe, and I just want to thank you for your service because you and everyone else working here deserves it."

There is silence for a series of moments, and Dex whirls his finger round for the crew to catch not only what Joe said, but Rory's reaction. She seems stunned, but slowly her eyes fill and she returns his smile. "Ta, Joe," she speaks far gentler. "I'm glad you understand, but sorry too." She reaches out as though to touch his hand but stops before reaching him. "We'll be all right, everyone is working hard, and this place is home to hardy people." Her eyes go to the camera and steel is in them. "The Capitol will not keep us down."

"I think we've got it," Dex claps his hands and Fletch cuts the video and sound. "That was amazing," he enthuses at the both of them, and to Joe "I see what you mean about real feeling, we have to keep harnessing that!" Clapping him on the back. Joe's smile is a little tight but he keeps it anyway, and the crew bunches up to talk over as Rory looks on almost quizzically, still moving to get another mask for herself. 

"It's, for lack of a better word, they're trying to make a film, or multiple films to keep spirits up, have people join this, erm, rebellion," Gwil says to Rory. "I'm Gwil, by the way. Joe and I were tributes these last Games, and"

"You survived," Rory breathes. "Oh. I see now, and that's why... that's why you're with my father." She glances at Roger who is standing with Lola and Dom, Brian's arm around his shoulders. Her tone is harsher and she shakes her head. "I'm sorry, it's just, there are a lot of feelings, seeing him." Her eyes cast down but she looks up again. "I'm glad he still has Brian," her quiet tone is fervent at that. "He keeps going. I've got to get back to my patients, but." Eyes shifting from Gwil to Joe with real warmth in her face and smile, "you take care and keep going too."

"We will," Joe tells her as Gwil nods vigorously. Both say a final thank you as Rory nods and looks back to her father. Brian is looking over and lifts his hand, blowing her a kiss. At the movement Roger turns too, and so much emotion is in his face, but all he does is lift a hand to his daughter. She nods back at him with an equal amount of emotion and ducks through drapes into her makeshift emergency room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well a lot has happened here! In this chapter and in these notes (Hopefully this answers a little of your question, Phoenix_Queen). In this au I have Roger's kids being these ages:  
Felix is 25  
Rory is 23  
Tiger Lilly is 19  
Rufus is 15  
And Lola is 10
> 
> I hope you can forgive my abysmal French, I learnt some many years ago in primary school, the very basic but Dominique is certainly not going to count or have a need to introduce herself...
> 
> Roger met Dom first after he won his Games around the age of sixteen, and then Debbie later. Have it as him being eighteen when his first child was born, and the Capitol taking everyone he loved away...well, his actions due to what the Capitol did via the Games have everything to do with it. So if you're interested, Roger is currently 42 years old, which makes Brian 44
> 
> *Rufus plays drums and is in a band, so I wanted to include that aspect of reality here.
> 
> *Rory is a doctor, and Tiger Lilly does fashion. 
> 
> *Felix was the inspiration for 'Radio GaGa' and thus I figured why not have him as a radio host? 
> 
> If any part of the radio broadcast is at all familiar, I got the Dean Thomas and Weasley twins' broadcast from the seventh Harry Potter book stuck in my head a bit.
> 
> Next chapter is going to have Ben in it, I haven't forgotten hem - may need to lengthen the story even more at this rate, whew!
> 
> Hope you're still enjoying, comments appreciated <3


	35. ...At the Madman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of past and present sorrow and evil
> 
> WARNING for intense images and psychological torment described, as well as serious self-loathing

Days pass, lengthening to weeks - first passes with the District Thirteen camera crew and their pair of tributes going through the woods, pottering around the outlying districts and seeing the destruction. Cataloguing reactions from Joe and from Gwil, and sending videos across the airwaves.

Roger returns to the infirmary as often as he can, staying in the foyer where John Mazzello has begun coming to help Lola rip bandages, make disinfectant and whatnot, as he meets Lola on his adventuresome walks through the district and sees her helping Rory. Rog attempts to talk to his eldest girl, or at least see more of her. That's pretty much all he gets to do the first five or so days, as she is busy and so does not speak to him. That is the reason she gives, at the very least.

It's day six when she finally snaps out "D'you know how hard it was to be your child, Dad? No, you wouldn't, but I didn't want to go to school sometimes - kids were coming at me with more than harmless ribbing. You hear 'your father's a monster, he's killed people, and he's definitely not coming back because he doesn't love you' stuff like that, every day. Every time you got drunk on telly and made an arse of yourself there was pity, and laughing, and -" her voice squeaks into a husk as she buries her face on her hands and jerks. "Oh no, I need new gloves," she hisses, throwing her current pair into a bin and stomping through the room hissing "Sod it sod it sod it!"

"Rory," Roger reaches out, his forehead wrinkled trying to figure how to help her.

"What?!" She shouts. "What, Dad? Are you going to tell me they were just being idiotic cruel kids, because I know that. I know you did some awful things because you were forced to, and I do everything to try and save..." Her eyes are swimming now "I try to save people so they don't leave their families or think they've got to. But I'm just patching up bodies," she sniffles and wipes furiously at her eyes, knowing she will need a new face mask as well as gloves after this. "If I could help in other ways, maybe I... could've helped you."

Roger is lost for words as his daughter continues to cry, lost for any more words herself. He finds that he is almost relieved, hearing what she just said; because at least she has been able to do so well despite him. And he is exponentially grateful to have no cameras around.

*** 

Currently the cameras are with Joe. They have been to as many districts this far as are still fighting the Capitol, but today Dex wants to try something different. Joe has been talking to resistors, smiling and being kind, his exuberant gentleness shines in every video they shoot. 

But no one has seen him angry yet. Not really, truly furious over what the Capitol has done. But what way to do that, to spark the most genuine reaction, other than to take him to the ruins of his home? 

Gwil is not here this time; he didn't want to be privy or part of this particular journey, as he'd heard a bit of what the director and crew had been planning. And had something to run by Hollander and Singer besides. "I'll see you when you get back though, yeah?" Gwil had put his hands on Joe's shoulders and then as though impulsively, had given him a hug. "Take care of yourself out there today, sweetheart," he whispers into Joe's hair, his sharp gaze leveled on the rest of the group in warning. "You lot had better take good care of him," he adds after relinquishing Joe. "Since I won't be out there."

"...But I will," a softer voice precedes the height of Brian May. "I apologise for listening in so long, but Roger is with his daughter and I haven't anything else I'd rather do than go with you today, Joe. If it's permitted, of course." Joe had beamed and the crew said why not, as they'd been working with two this whole time, Brian can step in to be the second; and Gwil looks at Brian in gratitude, murmuring something into the fluffy hair of the stylist that causes his face to grow serious as he stands next to Joe. Well, even more so than before.

So they are in the woods now, and Joe is telling Brian and Dennis in particular, as they're the closest to him, about how crap he was at hunting for so long. "My sister was always better than me, much more patient," he said, holding back a vine so it will not snap down and hit the camera or worse, tangle in the uppermost curls of Brian's hair. "-She'd be crouching watching the grass for slight movements and to see if there were new deer tracks anywhere around, meanwhile I'd crunch through all the leaves and send whatever living thing WAS there running for the hills...," Joe laughs at the memory even as the camera and mics precede his last steps out of the treeline and into the clearing outside of District Twelve.

Yet there is no clearing, nor fence, and no longer a district beyond.

Haze of stone dust and debris rises in puffs with the rustling of wind, and hollowness pervades. Rubble alongside torched, blackened bits of wood, last remnants of houses and the closest trees to the boulevard and not even simply that, but the dirt roads where poorer houses were - their wood appears to be melted from flame. And under cracked and splintered stone, mottled hues are bone-white from the heat, and faces coal-black, bones burnt same temperature as the rocks. 

So many lives were lost here. And for what?

Nothing but chinking stone slipping and crunching under feet accompany Joe as he moves forward, face pale and set with eyes telegraphing pure unadulterated agony. His smile is gone as if it had never been. 

The crew share looks with one another, growing less certain of the validity in any way this plan had, and instead become ever more concerned the deeper Joe moves into the rubble without words. Nothing is on the mics but coughs and clattering rocks and tiny gasping whimpers from Brian, whose fingertips clamp against his lips as tears slide down his face at higher velocity the deeper they go into the ruins. Joe silently leads the way and stops, shoulders heaving and arm raised to gesture at last to what had been the district square where this nightmare started.

Joe pans his eyes around, the camera catching his horrified eyes and his lips pressing together before he lets out barely a breath, uttering "When I'm gone...,"

"Joe?" The others gaze again at each other, all but Brian, who only steps over to Joe and puts a hand on his upper back as tears continue pouring down his face.

_"When I'm gone, no need to wonder if I ever think of you,"_ Joe's voice cracks as he looks around the rubble and, yes, sings softly. _"The same sun shines, the same wind blows, and --for time, for both of us, and time is but a paper moon."_ he lifts his face and stumbles over words, tone rending itself and the sorrow of those lyrics to pieces. _"Be not goooone!"_ Joe begs the earth and the sky, everything, it seems for these innocent lives lost, and the ones in every district, every year since first began the Hunger Games. He thinks of Rami, and Allen, and Ben and Lucy at the last as he begs them to be not gone.

_Please, let them be not gone._

_***_

Ben wishes he was gone somehow, somewhere away from this existence, this place. There is nothing here but pain, and anger, and he'd been trying to stay strong, to escape or find an escape for Lucy if not for himself, but everything they're telling him seems wrong. That no one cares, he'd thought before, but it doesn't seem right, not now. Joe does care, but no, they're saying he didn't, he doesn't. It was a ploy, a way to survive and to be saved by traitors. _No._ To incite riots and raise the districts against the country that has always protected them. The Hunger Games are a service, a privilege to bring revenue and glory and opportunity. _Augh, no, but people die!_ For a cause, the greater good. It keeps us all safe, and you want to be safe. That is why you are here. Joe left you. _No!_ The way your parents let you go off to the Arena to die. 

Ben sobs, tears tracking down his face. His eyes are swollen, he hurts, no, aches inside and is in pain, a fiery sort from his leg but also deeper inside him, like talon claws are tearing through his guts because it's true, he is alone. His leg is not healed, he's in so much pain. Joe left him here, in pain. _But he didn't mean to!_ How would you know what he means? What anyone does? Weak boy, sensitive, scared. Useless. You burnt the bread. You allied yourself with enemies. You couldn't hack it. You're a liability, a necessary loss, a lackwit. There is a reason you have always been alone. 

Ben thrashes and heaves then, spitting bile as he's already been sick, he doesn't remember, but clearly he has; he's curled on a frigid floor and they're back again dragging him off to who knows where, forcibly giving him food, holding him up; he cannot sit up he's so weak. "Ben," he hears a voice, choked and pleading and gentle "Please, please eat. Stay with me, I can't - I can't go through this alone." Lucy. Lucy is still here. She's beside him, holding a spoon to his lips, there's a crust of blood on her bald head. She is so thin, almost skeletal.

"No," he croaks through desert-dry lips, feeling wetness drip into his mouth that nearly makes him ill again. Sweet iron. Blood. "You, you eat." He tries to shove the utensil at her, begging with his words and his eyes, and then he's falling into a stupor, some cold mist, and she's screaming and begging "No, come back, come on, don't do this. Don't leave me, Ben!" 

But he does, he is gone, and her voice changes. Echoes and deepens into this hollow strange sound, and Ben moans, almost screams. He feels a presence before him, deceivingly gentle, and fights back. Kicking and punching and throwing himself round, he is still physically strong and at this point he has nothing left to lose. 

A grunt precedes his adversary as well as he first leaving the floor and then ending up spread-eagled somewhere. Bright blue eyes stare into his face, frigid bars clasp around his cheeks, and it is now at last that he breaks, screams and wails in agony and despair.

Yet the eyes remain staring and a voice says to him, somehow strong and steady yet also aching and full of feeling: "Oh, Ben. Come on, mate. Let's get you out of here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit is going down. Everyone okay out there? I don't know if this can be enjoyable, per se, but it's cathartic for me to write it, so I hope you're finding something in the reading. Things are bad but will get better. (Have I delivered on Roger angst, Queeniac?)
> 
> The director and camera crew definitely expected a blow-up from Joe but got something entirely different
> 
> I was torn between two possible songs for Joe to sing this chapter, and would be interested to hear what you think of the one I chose.
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	36. I Dreamed I Saw

It was probably an insane idea from the start, not to mention almost spur-of-the-moment (in fact, it wasn't that at all; he had been thinking about it almost since he'd known they were captured and the sight of the pair of them on telly had cemented the need. So he'd talked to Hollander) and that day just couldn't take it one single solitary second more, particularly after figuring out what the director and camera crew were doing with Joe - or to him, rather. 

Gwilym Lee located and marched into a leader and advisement meeting room and announced "Right. Hi, I'm sorry for the interruption and intrusion, but I wanted to say that I'm going to get to the Capitol one bloody way or another and bring Ben Jones and Lucy Boynton back here, and I just want to let you know so I preferably don't have to commandeer an airship or weapons or anything, and it'd be nice to have a specific strategy to get in, but they're also my friends and I think we're missing the entire bloody point of our rebellion if we don't focus on what should be the main purpose here." 

He's breathing hard, eyes shining, and Singer turns from his advisory board, and Hollander who is trying to keep from smiling, and says "What is the 'main purpose here', then, according to you?"

Gwil looks at everyone and catches his breath before relaxing, spreading his hands and responding simply, "Love. You love your country and its people, or you wouldn't be gathering all these refugees out here and trying to help the districts rebel. You wouldn't give a shit about stopping the Hunger Games, excuse me -" he dips his head in apology for swearing "But I say we've got to take it a step further and get our people out of prison, because that is where they are right now, even if it looks glamorous and sparkling clean, it's a prison and they're hurting and they need our help. And if we leave them there, in the Capitol, we're - we are complicit. If we stand by we don't deserve to rebel." Gwil's voice cracks on the final phrase and he presses his lips together and puts his shoulders back. "I'll get out anybody else you want, take as big a force of help as you think I need, but I'm going to do it whether you give an official sanction or not. I won't leave me mates behind." He stops then, about to continue, but waits.

Singer cocks an eyebrow. "...Are you finished?"

"Actually, just one more thing," says Gwil quickly. "I need to do this for Joe, too. You want his cooperation with this whole thing, and he's doing the best he can, but I bet you can see his heart's not fully in it." looks around at each of them again, and blurts "...which isn't to say he's not trying hard, he is, and he's brilliant, but. Since his district is gone and his family's here, only piece of his heart that's missing is in the Capitol, and I'd like to help with that." Dropping his chin and murmuring to his feet, the tall man adds much softer, "...and so is mine." Bounces once on his heels, looks back up again, and says "That's it, erm. Thank you for listening."

There is silence that's a bit sardonic on some ends, because "Well I don't think we had much choice in the matter since you barged in, but you're welcome," and then after another silence and tapping thumbs and looks around the table, "...As it happens we have people off-shift today, and aren't conducting any raids or medical supply runs, so." Gwilym starts to smile, eyes filling with happiness (and a few tears of relief to be perfectly honest) as the leader continues: "Hollander, get him in touch with captain of the guard, see if they can come up with a plan and how many people need to go with him." Stops and looks at Gwil firmly. "I'm giving you leave to go, understand, Lee. But any casualties or incidents on this mission will fall on you, is that understood? This is your responsibility."

"I -" Gwil blinks. "Yes sir."

A humph. "Good. Better get going then," and as Gwil nodded and thanked him and the others again for their time, a high raspy voice emanates as its owner passes the doorway

"Thank fuck you lot listened to him, I would've advocated a bloody rescue in spite of that!" A heavy sigh precedes the face of Roger Taylor poking round the door, and he reaches out to Gwilym enthusiastically. "C'mon lad, I'll go with ya to find the guards. Finally somebody's got their head on straight about this! It's about bloody time!"

***

Guards and soldiers came right to Gwil and created a tactical plan, gathering a team and prepping the Capitol airship they have. Hollander offers to fly them in, as his status is tenuous but the Capitol is unclear on whether he was captured by the rebels or went willingly, so he says to Gwil with a twinkle in his eye. Gwil nods, thanks him as he is given a weapon and fitted with gear. His throat is dry the entire time he holds the gun, and he swears to himself that he will not use it unless forced. Roger put hands on his shoulders and looked at him with such emotion as the team prepared to go, that Gwil knows he will not forget that expression soon. "I'll alert the... infirmary of the new patients that'll be coming in," his high voice almost breaks and Gwilym's hand goes to hold onto him, concerned.

"Roger -"

"We've got to go," the head guard says to Gwil, and Rog gets a hard look, squeezes the young man's shoulder and tells him to bring our kids home before stepping back and watching as Gwilym runs up the ramp of the airship and settles inside. Last thing he sees are Roger's sharp blue eyes following their progress en route out of the hangar and towards the capital city.

First thing Ben registers are the blue eyes, and then the voice. Next he feels hands, clutching his face desperately and there's a leanly muscled body in black gear, a strong nose, sharp cheeks and jaw. But his expression is the softest and kindest and "... Gwil," Ben breathes. 

Gwil lets out a choked relieved laugh. "Yeah, hey, mate, it's me. I'm here to get you out."

"Oh," Ben breathes and such hope suffuses his face, but as the two guards at the door shift and speak to each other over radio, indicating their other two have found Lucy and third is keeping a lookout, no adversarial actions yet, Ben's face goes closed and then his eyes are huge and terrified. "No, no, no it's not. This isn't real, they're playing with me, it's another venom dream." He groans and crouches, fisting both hands in his hair, and he lets out a scream of agony that all the guards react to.

"Hsst!"

"Shut him up, we've got to get out of here!"

"Lee, let's go!"

"Ben," Gwil has dropped to his knees before his friend and says swiftly "I dunno how to get you to believe this, mate, but I am real. I'm really here, I yelled at the head blokes of the rebellion and told them I was going to come and rescue you and Lucy. No matter what they said. And I need you to come with me, please." His voice wobbles as he extends a hand. "Please, mate."

Ben stares, breaths heaving, eyes dilated. He looks like he's preparing to bolt, but he did listen. "You...you gave an ultimatum to... Come rescue us? Me?" His voice is a tiny croak as Gwil gets a tap on the shoulder from a guard saying the others are outside, they've got to move. Sent out a signal for anyone else who requires aid to use a specific frequency, and wired it to go out on the same lines as the underground radio network. (They'd told Gwil a mass exodus of people on this mission wasn't a feasible plan, they would have to come back with another team. They only had one luxury airship. Reluctantly, he'd conceded the validity of the point.)

But now "Yes," Gwil says urgently, holding out his hand. "You're my friend, Ben. And friends will be friends -" he flips his hand to extend palm-up towards the other man, looking into his turbulent oceanic eyes. "- right to the end. Do you believe me?" He says the same words he'd spoken in the Arena, and recognition flashes across Ben's weary face. He nods sharply, once.

"You are real," he whispers, taking Gwil's hand.

Gwilym squeezes it. "I'm real, and I'm here. Now let's get gone, yeah?" Ben nods and stands with him. "Good lad," Gwil speaks fervently, lovingly, and something in that phrase makes Ben blush. He tries to walk and stumbles, but Gwil has his arm and loops it round his own neck. "C'mon, I've gotcha. That's it, here we go." He nods sharply to the guards, nonverbally telling them to clear a path, and they hear noise and what sounds like guns blazing.

"Go go go!" The ship has come down right outside the great hall and Ben's room is in one of the mazelike corridors, so shouting over the radio tells them which direction to head. Gwil thinks he's spotted Lucy ahead of them, and Ben is barely keeping pace as Capitol guards pursue them. He shudders as he hears gunfire, possibly explosions - hasn't heard the sound of guns before as there hadn't been any in the Arena for the Games, yet that had done nothing to mitigate the carnage... no, not the time for such thoughts. Focus, Gwil. His vision tunnels til they see the end of the hall and the wall they must breach, and all the team he's come with joins them, one member held up by two others - _if there are casualties, those are on you_ \- Gwil hears Singer's voice in his head but feels Ben's warmth and that he is shaking. They've got to get out of here. So with force and more gunfire they blast through the outermost door and spy Hollander in the air, waving madly as he lowers the ramp for the team to make a run for it. 

Pounding across the asphalt, Ben falters and chokes out "Gwil - I can't, you go on." His leg has buckled, the one he'd hurt in the Games, and Gwil realises his warmth is far more than typical. He's got a fever. 

"No, Ben, I'm not leaving you, mate. I'm not doing that. You're coming with me." He looks around, trying to figure out what to do if Ben cannot walk - and then he crouches. "Get on my back," shots ring out, a cry of pain - "Ben, NOW!" and he does, Ben's weight wraps around him, and Gwil grabs his legs and straightens, running for all he's worth into the plane as the ramp rises up and they have lift off. He drops to one knee and helps Ben slide off him and sit.

The blond gasps, sweat on his face, and Gwil swallows, nods, smiles. "See? Told you I had you."

Ben runs a hand across his face and gasps. "You did. That - that was bloody insane!" He stares at Gwil in absolute bafflement, and Gwil starts to laugh. 

"He's a madman, I've always known it," and suddenly a blur of cloth and limbs is in Gwil's arms and Lucy is whispering "Gwil -"

"Lucy," he clutches her, laughter gone. Feels how thin she is, always slim before, but now it's worse, and her hair - her beautiful hair - he cradles her head in his hand as he looks at her and feels as though his heart might break. "Oh, Luce, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she touches his face as though in wonder. "You saved us, Gwil. You're taking me home. Or, the closest thing -" she chokes and buries her face in his neck, unable to complete the sentiment, but he understands the gist. Closes his eyes and holds her, lips to her ear.

"Oh, Lucy, I know." He raises his eyes and extends one hand to Ben, the other still wrapped around Lucy's back as she clings to him. "Still real," he assures the other, as Ben has sucked in air and looks disoriented, unsure. "I'm right here with you, Ben."

"Cheers," Ben gasps as he shifts and reaches out. Takes Gwil's hand, holding on; trying to stop the roaring, rising rush of thoughts and fears that pound through his head all the way to District Thirteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A plan was afoot and all on Gwil, go Gwil! He's a bit like Gale in a way, tough and stubborn and ready to jump to action in part for Joe. This story also definitely isn't primarily focused solely on Ben and Joe anymore. What do you think? 
> 
> This chapter is in a bit of a muddle of past and present tense, mostly due to me having it in Gwil's thoughts as he recalls how the plan started and whatnot. Hopefully that wasn't too jarring
> 
> The lines about being complicit come from some issues I'm currently aware of in the world...this was something I needed to write.
> 
> Next chapter has Ben and Lucy back with the boys! What will go on since Ben isn't clear on what is real...who knows....
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	37. People, Can You Hear Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Thirteen
> 
> WARNING for possible frightening images of medical work and references to physical harm/torture

On the walk back to Thirteen all is subdued, as Joe remains quiet, sticking close to Brian as the group moves through the woods. The crew speaks in whispers to one another, save for Dom's rising epithets in irate French. She seems to be berating the others, having fallen in-step behind at the outset of the filmic segment today, which Brian's sharp eyes had noticed, but he thought perhaps it had something to do with her seeing Roger, and thus about their relationship. Now he wonders if it was something else, or more; if she, like Gwil, had known what the director planned to do by springing this trip to Twelve on Joe (and how could Gwilym have possibly gotten wind of the plan beforehand anyway...?) Brian watches Dominique now with intent interest as well as awe; her fierceness is exhibited so plainly in her flashing eyes and the sound of her voice. No wonder Roger had once been taken with her. Honestly he probably is still.

Roger.

He hasn't gotten to talk to Rog alone since that night they spent after his friend's awful dream; Roger hadn't even told him what it was about, but Brian can guess. He wishes he couldn't, that his own demons, as Roger had referred to them, would stay away-- but he is cursed with an active and feeling imagination along with bouts of depressive melancholy, and finds it so difficult to be alone with his thoughts.

Which is one reason why he finds himself murmuring to Joe, and with him in the first place. He aches to help someone, anyone, everyone who needs it. And right now he can tell that Joe does. 

Brian is almost singing a bit in his own turn as they head back. Doesn't know why he is doing it, why his mind has conjured up the particular lyrics he sings, but perhaps it's the worry over Roger and Lucy and Ben, over everyone who's had and lost someone and may still do in this rebellion - whatever possesses him, he thinks of Freddie, who had a voice that was so warm and rich and clear. His own voice is so delicate and small, somehow; thinner and nowhere near as powerful. Yet he cannot help but sing.

_"It started off so well, said we made the perfect pair... I clothed myself in your glory and your love, how I loved you; how I cried. The years of care and loyalty, were nothing but a sham, it seems. The years belie we lived a lie, I'll love you till I die."_

There is a sort of palpable nature to Joe's quiet beside him now, as if the young man is intently listening. And then Joe looks at him with so much feeling in those young eyes, so much heartache that no one that age should ever have to feel; and yet he smiles, so sadly, but he smiles nonetheless and takes Brian's hand, squeezes it and continues singing, to the stylist's amazement, the song.

_"Save me, save me, saaaave me, can't face this life alone! Oh save me, save me, saaaave meeee, I'm naked and I'm far from home."_ Voice croaking.on the end of the lyric, Joe looks back over his shoulder into the trees now fully obscuring what was once District Twelve, and something in his eyes says farewell to that place as he faces forward again. Something in the way he sings this song is hopeful, even in the midst of pain.

And it remains that way until they reach Thirteen, and enter at the hangar to head back down.

***

When the airship touches down in the camoflauging space of the hangar, wind blowing back out to rocks and trees, the ramp hisses as it's lowered. 

There are swift movements and a bulky figure hustles down, materialising into the light as a muscular figure with pale skin, blond hair, eyes flickering back and forth under fluttering lids as he groans and writhes in pain, and the thin tall dark-haired personage who's doing his level best to hang on and get the other to the infirmary. 

Right behind him two more figures in the same dark body gear haul a third between them whose head is lolling and limbs hang limply. Another person moves with, almost carrying, but not quite - a thin figure pale as a ghost, head shining in the light as the hangar bay closes. Shouts of "move away, make a hole!" Put the camera crew in a halt just before the first figures exit the room, and Joe's eyes lock on Gwil, who is holding...

"Ben," Joe breathes, blinking and looking at his friend. Brian's breath hitches and stops a moment. "Gwilly, is that Ben?"

Gwil's warm eyes are telegraphing reassurance even as he's so determined, squinting and almost running. "Yeah, it is," he says. "He'll be fine, just - he has a fever," and more shouting precedes the order to get them to the infirmary, and Joe sucks in air and freezes, watching. 

He suddenly feels a hand grasp his, and looks into large eyes. Lucy. "Oh my god, you -"

"Hi, Joe," she smiles at him, and he's shaking and throwing caution to the winds and his arms around her, and she feels so frail but also somehow so freaking strong as she hugs him back before the guard tells her "miss, come along now," and "you've got to let go, sir, she also needs the infirmary."

"I'll come with you," Joe looks up, not realising he'd grabbed Brian's arm with the hand that wasn't cinched around Lucy's waist. "Brian -"

"Go on, if anyone asks, I'll tell them. And get someone to find and alert your family." With that the stylist bows his head, presses his hands together before his face. He hopes to heaven that Ben will be all right as he watches Joe start down the hall, holding on to Lucy's hand after saying thank you. Which isn't necessary, Brian wishes he could do so much more - but they are gone down the way after Gwilym and Ben, and the lifeless guard too; and Brian feels his mind whirl at speed as he hopes with all his might. And wonders what will happen for - when they get to Roger.

***

Roger is still in the infirmary, or back there, rather, when Gwilym brings Ben in. Rory has been breaking, sitting for the brief moment of rest she gets late afternoon some days - and then guards are rushing in talking about a gunshot wound and a fever and he sees blond hair and a weary, sweating face, and Gwil says "Ben, his name's Ben, he's one of the tributes - I think he's got a, a leg infection or some such thing, from the Arena" and his daughter is snapping at Roger to get a stretcher for the guard with the gunshot wound. 

"We need to stop the bleeding, give him saline or plasma, which of course we don't have; Lola, get my tools and bandages, please," she ties her mask and pushes hands through her sleeves and into gloves, beckoning to Gwil. "Follow me, in here. We need to get his fever down. Dahlia," she says to her fellow doctor, or as much of one as she's got, "Get some cold wet rags, we need to lower his temperature. Haven't got a thermometer but I can tell it's dangerously high. John," Joe's little brother stands by, sleeves rolled up and face determined. "Can you dunk clean towels in water for Dahlia, love? And we've got to get this third one to a bed, are you alright?"

Joe has just rushed in pell-mell with Lucy in his arms. 

"Joe," Rory says in recognition. And then her eyes grow as she registers where these two people must have come from, what they've been through and seen. "Oh, sweet girl, are you all right?" She asks Lucy. "Have a fever?"

"No," Lucy bites her lip, in tears, but her voice remains mostly steady. "That's just Ben. I -" her voice breaks slightly. "I'm lucky, they seemed mostly intent on starving me, did a lot more - worse things to him." She looks through the curtains to where Gwil has put Ben in bed, and her dear friend now holds the blond down as he is thrashing. Dahlia is trying to bind his arms to keep him on the bed, and from hurting himself or others. And - is that John? Joe notices his little brother duck into the space with a bucket, water sloshing round inside and slopping over the edges a bit.

"Rory," her father's high voice snaps to her. She looks over to see him in gloves with a mask, but no scrubs on, hair tied back and holding a bloody bullet in a pair of forcips. Lola stands behind him, holding up the tray they're meant to be on. "Got this, stopped the bleeding - keep that pressure, damn it," he snaps at the two guardsmen that he is having help. "Doesn't look good, have we got any way to give him blood?"

"I -"

"Mister Taylor," one of the guards snaps urgently. "Mister Taylor, he's not breathing, sir! Bobby!" The guard slaps the other's cheeks, his friend with blood on his own face shield looks stricken, still clutching the bandage and pressing it to the shoulder wound. 

"Oh, sod it, move!" Roger snaps, shoving them both aside. "Get some gloves, and you, make sure there's no blood on your face under that mask. Lace your fingers together, we're going to do impromptu CPR. Bloody Capitol and upper districts good for one thing," he grumbles, "teaching medical methods. Right keep your arms straight and put weight straight down over his heart, get that RUDDY flak vest off -" he rips it off himself, curling one hand around the guard's slack chin and checking in his mouth for anything blocking the entrance to his esophagus. "Now you're gonna do chest compressions to the tune of this, ready, one two three - and another one bites the dust. Dada dum, dum, dum. Another one bites the dust, which isn't happening today, happening today, bada dum!" Roger nods his head as the guard complies, mouthing out the ba ba bas before pinching the other's nostrils closed. He blows two short puffs of air into the inert guard's mouth, hopefully expanding his lungs as the sharp strong chest compressions give jolts to his heart. "Come on, laddie! Here we go. Keep on!"

Rory nods to him as her father locks eyes with her, and his gaze tells her to go to Ben, who is kicking off in the next room.

***

The little infirmary has become a trauma center, and Rory only stops to get a sedative from its cabinet, carefully measuring some into the single syringe she has. Been boiling every needle given to her, but she needs more. So much more. Looks back to Lucy and Joe, who have sat down out of the way. Joe's located Lucy a glass of water, and he looks almost as pale as she. The doctor remembers what he mentioned about understanding what families go through with their loved ones in hospital, and her heart aches for him even as she pushes through the curtains to assist Dahlia and Gwil.

"Go on and help my dad," she says to Dahlia, as Gwil has managed to pin both of Ben's arms down, minimizing his thrashing. His chest heaves and eyes are dilated as Gwil speaks to him soothingly, his own face pinched with sorrow even so. "Mate, I'm sorry but I've got to hold you, you need to try and lie still, this doctor -"

"Rory," she smiles under her mask, trying to infuse her voice with warmth to soothe him. "Hi, Ben? I'm Doctor Rory Taylor. You're in district thirteen, in my infirmary, and I can tell you have a bit of a fever." Already his breaths have slowed down and he isn't fighting, but listening. "Good, now we're going to wrap these cool wet towels around you." She nods at John, "to bring the fever down, okay? They might feel heavy as well as a bit cold, but they're meant to help, alright? - Has he had this the entire time you've been with him?" She now asks Gwilym, picking up the rags John wets and wrapping them around Ben's arms and legs. "We may have to get his shirt off too, my god, he's sweating through it." 

Gwil curls his arm around Ben's back and says "Ben, it's Gwil, I'm still here. Gonna sit you up a bit, mate." Ben's eyes have closed tight and he gasps at the coolness of the rags, but he isn't fighting at all anymore, nodding weakly as Gwil helps him sit up carefully and pulls his shirt up and over his head, peeling the cloth away. 

Only for his stomach to lurch at what he saw.

Gwil's hands shake as John hands over more rags, wincing at the sight of what appear to be lashes and burns across Ben's pectorals, his muscles remain defined but aren't noticed underneath the bruises and cuts. Cuts seem to be healing, but there are ones older and new, clotted with congealing blood and scabs. "...They patched him up only to hurt him again," whispers the district four tribute. He feels as if his heart is breaking, and wonders if this was done to Lucy too. "Oh, Ben..."

"We'll monitor him," Rory remains steady, but there is a glimmer in her eyes that seems like sadness as well as fury. Much like her father, if the surname Taylor is anything to go by, and with what she said to the other doctor. In the time Gwil spent with Roger on the airship en route here, he recognises the fire of rage at injustice and cruelty in the mentor as well as in this doctor here. She explains to him that she will look over Ben once they lessen his fever, to see if the source of it is in fact, a leg infection, as was mentioned. "You can sit with him if you like, we'll keep on using those cloths. Thank you, John." She nods at the boy as he wrings out excess water. "You can go now, just be sure to wash your hands before you leave, okay? I'm going to check on the other tribute, and my father with his gunshot wound." They'd been hearing Roger's sharp growls at the guard to keep himself alive, stay with him, damn it.

Gwil nods to the doctor and thanks her, taking the cloth John had left, waving to him before he departed Ben's makeshift room. Scooting a chair he'd found forward, the tribute from district four thanks heavens for water as he begins to bathe Ben's face, and thanks them also for this woman who had been here with her knowledge and jumped to swift action. Even with the little he has seen, he knows his friend - both of his friends - are in excellent hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Roger got a biology degree from University and has medical knowledge enough, I figure he knows CPR. And his daughter Rory is, in fact, a doctor so I've made her knowledge as close to the real world as I can. 
> 
> I apologise for any inaccuracies in my explaining; this is a bit of an early twentieth-century medical space (or something like a battlefield hospital) working to get the job done
> 
> *Needles must NEVER be reused, and should always be sterilised, and blood needs to be washed away in order not to cause contamination.
> 
> *The tune/beat of 'Another One Bites The Dust' as well as 'Stayin' Alive' are cited as proper time-frames to provide chest compressions when performing CPR. 
> 
> I didn't expect to love writing Rory so much but I do, bless her. Roger remains badass and Dom is the freaking best in my opinion
> 
> This was a whirlwind of a chapter, hopefully it remains comprehensible. Comments appreciated <3


	38. Spreading His Hands to the Multitude There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Infirm behavior
> 
> Warning for death and discussion of physical harm - more like lashing out physically in a frightening manner

Gwilym stays with Ben, carefully wiping his forehead with cool wet cloths and seeing the haunted, frightened look in Ben's eyes slowly diminish. Realises he is humming a tune to his friend, something about being weary and feeling small, but when tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all. "... I'm by your side, oh, and these times are tough," Gwil whispers. "When hope just can't be found - like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down." It was an old song from his district, to which he'd changed a few words. Didn't know where it came from originally, could've been a sea shanty that kept the fisherfolk and sailors hopeful, although loads of other songs about sailing and waves and whatnot had a bit of sad sets of lyrics. But Gwil has always been drawn to the hopeful tunes, or tried to see them as hopeful. Songs can keep people together in the toughest times. Just as he is trying to do here, helping his mate in his fever and every once in awhile reiterating the fact that they're out of the Capitol and that he is real.

He tells Ben stories of life in District Four, to give the other something hopefully nice to think about, or at least interesting "I hope this isn't too terribly boring for you, Ben. You'd tell me if it was though, yeah?"

A tiny smile brightens Ben's bone-weary face. "Mate, anything's better than what's going on in my head at the moment." His deep tone of voice is rough as he blinks, still sweating from fever, a bit. His fingers tremble as he extends his hand to curl around Gwil's closer wrist, as if he needs the reassurance of that physical touch. Closes his eyes and swallows, tuft of hair falling in his face as he nods for the other to continue. "Go on then, what happened to the first fish you ever caught?"

Gwil brightens, blue eyes warm. "You ARE listening! Right, so before we can go out on the sea, we have to prove we're adept at boatbuilding and swimming and suchlike. Well I wasn't great with boats, but I was real handy with a knot...."

Beyond the curtained space wherein Gwil sits with Ben, Joe stays with Lucy, holding her hand as they hear Roger and Rory trading comments about the guard and his condition. At last, the doctor comes to stand at the entrance of the area they sit in, swaying. Her facial expression is akin to the one Joe saw in Roger's face as he held Brian after the stylist had told Joe about John and Freddie - a resignation, an emptiness. "We...lost him," Rory speaks to the room at large, and then it's as if she shakes herself steady and comes over to Lucy, pulling on a new pair of gloves.

"Fucking BOLLOCKS!" Roger screeches, the sound of metal letting them know he'd obviously chucked something in fury. Lucy jumps and Joe closes his eyes. The two guardsmen totter into the room now with them, and Joe looks up, rises and goes to them after Lucy squeezes his hand and nods to him, her large eyes full of feeling. Rory smiles sadly and takes the female tribute to sit, checking her vitals, which are actually pretty good. 

"...I think you should stay here tonight, we can make sure you're getting adequate nutrition but I'm thinking it's not the best idea to go pig out in the dining hall," she tries to speak lightly, and Lucy thanks her with a watery chuckle. The doctor keeps a hand on the young woman's shoulder as she listens to her lungs, watching Roger fling himself through the doorway. "Dad," her voice is warm, breaking, soft, but it grows steely as he snarls. "Come here," Rory says. And then "You cannot do that. You need to control yourself. You can be furious that boy is dead, that's fine, but we still have living people here and we have a job to do." She nods to Joe, who stands with the other guards still, talking softly and listening as they tell him about Bobby. "--That boy is helping. He's working with this grief. And I'm sorry if it's harder for you but you need to stay with me here." Her voice cracks just a bit. "Because once I look at him," she nods towards Ben, who from the looks of things has quieted down completely, or almost; his fever has certainly gone down - "Joe is going to need you. We - _I_ need you." His head shoots up at that, eyes holding hers. Rory blinks, the trembling of her lips hidden by her mask. "So..." Her voice shudders. "Do what you need somewhere else, but when you're in here, you've got to batten it down. Keep yourself together. Okay? Please."

Roger blinks, rubs the back of his neck. He looks at Rory and at Lucy too, and over to Joe and then Ben and Gwil, who are the strongest bloody kids he's probably ever seen, next to his wonderful daughter here. He settles his shoulders, straightens his posture. Features grow pointed and serious as unbidden he thinks of the last moment he had lost it, at Brian. So often it's at Brian, and he doesn't want to see that horrible sadness he'd witnessed in Bri's eyes mirrored on anyone else's face, so he clears his throat. Nods. "...Right then, Rory," his high voice is a bit raspy but his hands are steady now and his jaw is no longer jumping. "I've got this. I've got you, love." _I'm here, and I'm going to fucking stay here._ He does not speak the last aloud, but doesn't need to.

His daughter sees it, and with a breath of relief as she finishes Lucy's initial check up, she nods, her eyes softening. "Thank you. Now come on."

He goes with her to check on Ben.

***

Joe doesn't know what he's doing.

He's sitting in the sort of waiting room after Lucy gets to hang out in another bed they have, and he says he'll be here for her but he doesn't want to sit right next to her bed, if that's okay, and she smiles at him and kisses his cheek and says "of course, just you being here is enough, Joe. Thank you." And then she adds "It lets me know I'm - out, for sure. I can't be in the Capitol if I'm sitting with you nearby. They're calling you the arrow, did you know? The arrow that'll shoot into the heart of Panem. Although you already have, I think, just by being yourself."

Joe smiles a little. "Well I hope they're not expecting a military coup, because a soldier I am not," he says, and she laughs back before going to the bed Dahlia takes her to (after having to help the subdued guardsmen take their friend wherever he must be laid to rest). The doctor's aide then goes to the room with Ben and Gwilym after a few minutes with Lucy, checking on what must needs be done, and Joe looks at Ben for the first time he's been in here.

Well, really looks, in the sense of almost staring, trying to see what's been done to him, and wondering if Ben can be okay. Those oceanic eyes are on Rory, and they brighten when he sees Roger, and Joe's heart thuds painful as their mentor runs and reaches out to Ben, who buries himself in Roger's chest as he's sat up in bed. Rory busies herself with taking his temperature during that, as Roger relinquishes Ben except for one hand on his shoulder. Gwil sits on his opposite side, those eyes intent, and Joe aches to go in, to also be with Ben, wrap his arms around him and hold tight and breathe in the assurance that he's really here, and the Capitol cannot hurt him - and then he sees Rory standing frozen, looking at Ben's leg. Sees Roger lean towards her to murmur, and Ben's eyes grow shocked and horrified. Gwil puts a shaky hand to his mouth, and Joe can't take it. He needs to know what's going on.

Figures the reason that Gwil has been allowed in the room with Ben is because he brought him in and also the staff was short-handed so anyone in the area with the ability to help was an asset. Joe is glad it could be Gwilym, but wishes it was him there, caring for Ben as he had in the Arena, seeing the light in his eyes and hearing him laugh. Feeling the warmth and safety of Ben's strong arms, the sweetness of his plump lips... Joe shakes his head. That isn't important right now. He just needs to hear the news, to know that Ben is going to be all right.

So he walks across the space, pushes through the curtains, and enters the room. "Hi guys," Joe smiles, tries to keep his tone light as he adds "...Sorry to butt in, but I was getting a little lonely out there. And I wanted to be sure Benny was okay." Swallowing hard, Joe steps closer to the bed, seeing Ben's shoulders heave and his eyes darken as he looks at him. It makes Joe's heart thump, and he lifts a hand. "Hey, Ben."

Ben's eyes bulge, and in a split second that occurs faster than anyone has the chance or ability to stop, or even to fully register what is happening, the blond lunges across his bed to tackle Joe, arm smashed across his chest and body slamming, pressing him into the wall. His features are blazing with what morphs from terror to fury and veins bulge in his hands and arms and neck as he spits out in a howl that makes blood run cold: "You, not you. You're not REAL!"

Joe finds himself gasping for air, or he might have simply forgotten how to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Gwil is singing a Simon and Garfunkel song, "Bridge Over Troubled Water". I figure it could very well come across as some old sea-shanty. Who knows what other music exists in this world, besides Queen? 
> 
> Well shit is hitting the fan, first for Bobby, rest in peace Bobby. And then with Joe and Ben
> 
> I'm having the manifestations of Ben's trauma a bit different from what Peeta experienced. Hopefully they'll still make sense. I'm already so sorry about this. Rory is definitely not bringing the hammer down for any reason than to attempt to keep a lid on as much crap as possible. Poor Roger, and Gwil is going to think he sent that guard to his death and is personally, solely responsible once he hears about it...
> 
> Comments are appreciated <3


	39. Hear, and Mark My Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for possible medical procedures that could be necessary as well as discussion of trauma below

Everyone is up, Rog has lunged to grab onto Ben but Rory holds him back. Mercifully, she and Gwil both speak in soothing tones as Joe's hazel-brown eyes go huge. "Ben, I am real, I promise," he gasps. "It's me, it's Joe."

Ben's head lowers and he shakes it furiously, that immense strength pinning Joe in place as he grinds between clenched teeth "No, no, they said you left me - that you're a mutt -" he shakes, suddenly, letting out a sound of anguish and agony, and he's loosened his hold on Joe as his knees buckle. Caught by Gwil, and Roger, and Rory takes Joe by the arms, wrapping her gloved hand around his shoulder as she walks him quickly out of the room, Ben's attention taken up by his pain again.

"What's - what's wrong with him?" Joe gasps, voice scratchy as he rubs the spot over his sternum where Ben's arm had been boring into him, causing a mark on his pale skin. "Will he be all right?"

Rory takes Joe's head in her hands and checks his throat and face, pulls up her stethoscope to listen to his breathing. "We're going to help him," she says in a way that softens once she looks in Joe's face closer. "...I promise. But I've got to check on you. Take a deep breath, Joe." He obliges her, and she asks "Any twinging? Pain?"

"...No," he shakes his head. Tries to smile. "Nothing but this bruise, probably. I'm fine." He isn't, though. Well, physically he feels nothing but his heart ceasing to stutter, but he feels cold and tired. Ben's eyes had held recognition, but only the sort of terror and fury that one might have to recognise a monster or something causing pain. It wasn't like he was looking at Joe. "He said I wasn't real," whispers, tears coagulating at the corners of his eyes. "He thinks I'm a... a mutt, a muttation, right? God, what - how could the Capitol have made him believe that?"

Rory pulls out the earbuds of her stethoscope and shakes her head. "I don't know, but we're going to figure it out," she says. "We'll get him stable and keep him safe, I promise."

Joe nods, and thanks her, and he doesn't say anything about keeping himself safe too, only goes into the space where Lucy is sitting, frozen on her bed, eyes full of tears and instantly she reaches out to Joe as he tells her hello, his voice wobbling. "Maybe I'm an idiot, but I decided to come in," even as he thinks of his father, cannot stop the sight of Lucy's bony face from conjuring up the thinness of his dad's features, how he hardly moved save to hold onto his wife and children when they came near to stay with him in the end. How his head looked so shrunken and small, bald like an egg with deep cuts - the attempts to save his head, his brain; at least Lucy is here, without hair but is still otherwise all right. Or at least as okay as she can be.

Joe comes over to sit in a chair, but automatically Lucy pats the surface of the bed, shifting her body and her blankets so that he can settle beside her, and he does so. Blinks and gulps and tries to smile in reassurance; really, he does, but he also wants to know, he needs to know.... "Lucy, what - if you can talk about it, what did the Capitol do to the - the two of you?" What happened to her and to Ben, he desperately does not want, but feels he needs to know.

Her voice is but a breath as she reaches out to him, curling her fingers in his shirt as he automatically wraps an arm around - both arms around her. They hold on to each other the way they had in the Arena, her chin on his shoulder, his head bowed next to where her hair...oh, god, her hair. There's so much else she lost, and he holds on to her, trying to comfort as well as he can.

Lucy feels his shuddering and her eyes spill over with empathetic tears, so grateful for his empathy. "Oh, Joe...,"

***

Roger Taylor is steadily going batshit. 

He knows it, he's sure everyone else fucking knows it, but as he sits here and holds onto this decent young man who never once deserved the hate of the fucking State, and knows even as his daughter does her tests on Ben what she is going to bloody find, he wishes with all his might that he had torn it all down when he had the chance.

By chance he meant, the night Freddie died. There were trucks and weapons and bombs and if he had _just gotten into one of the trucks at the rear of the bloody caravan and run them through the fucking gates of the Capitol til he'd blown the President and everyone in office to fucking hell_ if he hadn't frozen and flung obscenities and screams at all of them, if he'd been quiet and calculated and done something like Brian might've done, except the fact he's a fucking pacifist, tosser - if Roger hadn't acted like that, mayhap things today would be different. Maybe he wouldn't be hearing that Ben is coming down off tracker jacker venom, or that it's been given to him in increasing doses every fucking day for weeks, coupled with hallucinations and retconned memories and even dreams - of course they screwed with his ruddy dreams, Roger knows that from his own the other night. It never really goes away. 

And of course Ben isn't going to be certain of what is real or not at this point, his brain stem is fighting to deal with the intense mental stress, and all the memories are stuck in his hippocampus and he hasn't got a clue what's a true memory or not... The mentor inwardly curses his medical mind, he doesn't need to go through his knowledge of the brain right now, but. Responding to trauma, the way to get Ben out of this place in his head, they've got to give him a consistently safe environment. And that's likely not this bloody infirmary where anyone else can come in and blow their work to hell in a single minute....

Roger blinks and comes back to the current moment as his daughter carefully checks Ben's leg, and says something about a nick in the femoral artery that wasn't completely healed by use of the medicine in the Arena, fucking hell - and Ben's sitting there, trying to tamp down how wild he'd gotten with Joe, chest heaving and tears threatening as Rory gently but firmly explains that, if she is to cut into his leg and check on the status of the arterial tear, and they haven't got the equipment to put a stint in there (which they haven't, Roger can say that for certain right now) if she cannot sew the rip closed properly...well. The mentor's heart sinks as Gwilym sucks in an enormous breath, his eyes growing horrified as he can tell what Ben cannot.

This boy, so strong and sweet and gentle, who's already going through so much hell - if Roger hadn't promised to be calmer he would chuck the entire tray of medical supplies through a window right now - dear Ben could very well lose his leg. 

Amputation could be in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these chapters are getting shorter, mostly because I'm finding it hard to deal with all this angst even as I'm writing it. Poor Joe, and Ben, and Lucy, and Roger... man, everything pretty much sucks right now. Though for a bit of levity I was thinking about that instagram post where Joe and Lucy are cuddled up together pouting over some picture of Ben and Gwil looking cute together, haha *cries*
> 
> *Roger's thoughts on the brain and how it deals with the memory of trauma, as well as the idea of safe environments helping with getting through trauma, comes from training I've done on helping children deal with stressors and traumatic experiences
> 
> Honestly there may have to be fifty chapters at this rate, guys. As much as it hurts, I don't want to unrealistically jump out of the angst and be like "ta da it's all good now"
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	40. Listen to the Wise

Ben's head is pounding. Buzzing, really. He hears something about amputation and then venom and the doctor is murmuring and her assistant goes out, but all he can think is that the things that are real are breaking into sharp splintering fragments and dissolving like smoke behind the glass of the bakery windows, beyond which a pale face seems to be washing away in the rain - no, what is that? Not real - he concentrates on the warm grasp of his shoulder in a strong hand, the roughness of calloused skin, and he blinks up at Roger, fiery bright, burning Roger who is standing with him, jaw clenched and eyes blazing. Different from what he thought in the Arena, that the mentor didn't care, he'd been sending parachutes down solely to Joe, after all -

Joe. Ben bites his lower lip, his whole body shuddering, stomach rolling with heaves he attempts to suppress. Joe hasn't left, but no, he has, he - the emotions of Ben's remembrances feel so raw, and real, but so had the sensation of Joe's chest under his arm, and all those emotions in his eyes... _Ben, it's me,_ he had said. He said he was there, when all the Capitol said was that he'd left him and no no no no no! Ben's heart is hammering and he whimpers aloud, and suddenly a warm chest is pressed to his face, his cheek, and calloused hands are around his shoulders, one arm holding him as stout fingers stroke back the remnants of his hair. 

"You're alright, lad," Roger's rough high voice murmurs into his ear, as he feels Ben's shoulders jerk with sobs, his face reddening and crumpling with anguish and with shame and he can't even stop it, he cannot control himself - "You do have some anti-venom in your med pack, don't you, Rory love?" He hears Roger ask his daughter, and they talk about a dose to help him come down as safely as possible, but he's not listening, he's just buried his face in Roger's shirt and skin and wishes all this could end, that his head would just be quiet and whatever the Capitol had done to him would be over - and he feels a cold wet swipe of disinfectant and a needle going into his arm which was just hanging, bent at the elbow as he slumped weakly into Roger. _You're weak, you're soft, you aren't a real man!_ a horribly familiar voice screams in his head, and Ben squeezes his eyes shut as spots dance before them, turning into bread and aprons and then...

And then another voice speaks to him, a gentle creaking "Well Frankie, I was right; our Benji needs us, dear." Frankie? Ben swears he hears clacking sounds on the floor, but he's sure it's a hallucination, even as Roger withdraws a bit from him. His body lurches, he wants desperately to cry out _no, Rog! Don't leave me, please!_

But then he feels a warmth, a wiggling, and cold wetness as a tongue licks his hands, his fingers touch silky softness, floppy ears, and "Frankie?" Ben gasps, opening his eyes to look into the face of his little beagle, who lets out a confirming bark. "Oh, Franks, look at you, my Franksta," Ben gathers her in his arms and presses his face to hers, her tongue instantly lapping at his cheeks, licking his tears away. His eyes bleary Ben looks up and says to anyone, everyone in the room "thank you."

It's a crinkled long face with wild black curls that smiles first and says "It's your grandmother's idea and doing, Ben. I just brought her the rest of the way." 

"I, ...Gram?" Ben breathes, almost squeaking and into his sight comes the most familiar of faces, her eyes crinkled as her round cheeks balloon even rounder with a smile. 

"Yes Benjamin, I'm here." Briskly she pats his hand and sits in the chair that Gwilym pulls up for her. "Thank you, Gwil." She pats him on the hand as well, stroking his sharp cheekbone before her voice sharpens as she turns back to gaze upon her grandson. "Now what is this I hear about you throwing hands at people?" She asks sharply, having heard about the kerfuffle that occurred before her arrival, thanks to those in the waiting area. "I know I taught you manners, Benji boy." And then as Ben's face changes and he tries to find a way to explain so she can understand, even as he does not fully understand; as Rory and Roger and Gwilym look on, Rog having moved to grab onto Brian and hold fast to him as the tall bloke prepares to slip away, as Ben strokes Frankie, who has curled up in his lap now, and talks to his grandmother, who smooths back his hair and says she's getting him some water, this is the start to help him with his trauma. It's not enough, as he might not fully register that his grandmother is real as of yet, but this is a start.

And a start is definitely something.

***

Gwil steps outside the makeshift room and breathes, looking in awe at Brian. "That was a great idea, bringing his dog and his grandmother," the young man says. "Brilliant, really. Inspired."

"That's alright," Brian shrugs modestly, trying to pat down his hair. "I just thought, well, Joe's family needed to know where he had got to, and when I talked to them, Ben's gram was there, and I know that I would want to see my grandmother if she was here when me life spun itself out of control, so, I brought her here. It was nothing much, really."

"Bloody hell, Brian," Roger seethes even as he squeezes his tall friend's waist. "Just take the fucking compliment, why don't you?! Your ruddy brain is always working, I've no compunction that you didn't at least think of something to try to help Ben before just so happening upon his grandmum." Roger rolls his eyes. "Please." He looks at his daughter then, "Just like I'm going to tell Rory she was really on it with that jacker anti-venom for Ben. Hope we'll have enough of that to get him -"

"Yes," Rory nods. "Thank you, Dad." She takes off her mask at last, looking exhausted. "We should have enough of it for at least a few days, close to a week if no one else comes in with after effects of venom." Her eyes are flickering, going over a necessary regimen to bring down a person with an addiction. "I'll have to do my tests tomorrow, more of them, see how much dependence they've forced on him. It very well could be just the memories, which is bad enough, but I would say there is at least some dependence on the venom itself. I'll have to check on that when I assess his leg." She sighs and goes to get a fresh pair of gloves. "But for now...,"

"For now," her father steps in front of her, his vocal tone a gentle growl. "You've got to get some rest, Rory. At least, if you've got to stay nearby, get a bed next door or summat. Got to be an extra room round here, right?" Roger's query is met with a sad smile from Brian, and a series of blinks from Gwil, who realises it's probably not just Rory who's been sticking around here so long. And it's her job to be here, after all.

"I think I ought - I'm going to go to, where's Joe?" And sweet Lucy is still here, as well. "...What about the guard, erm, Bob - Bobby, did he make it?" Gwil's voice lowers, tapers off as Roger clenches his teeth, Rory shakes her head. "Oh." The lean tribute begins trembling, eyes slowly growing glassy with tears. It's his responsibility. He hears Singer's voice again, and the sounds of gunfighting, and he's trembling as he thinks of others who were killed, or died because of him.

"Oh, Gwil," Brian's gentle voice speaks to him, only knowing some of what happened just now, he tries to assure "...Sweet boy, his death wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it?" Gwil's tone trembles. "Wasn't it me who ran in and demanded we go save Ben and Lucy, only for them both to've gone through hell, and for Ben to be -" he chokes on the words. Doesn't know what Ben is dealing with, not completely; there is no way. He just wanted them back, wanted to help his friends, to do something good for people as they all rebel, and yet, and still. "I'm sorry," he croaks now. "I'm so sorry, I'll just - go -" stumbling back blindly through a hanging curtain, he calls back "...is there a back door?" But the only response he gets is to find his way through rooms to where Lucy and Joe are, curled up together in her bed.

Joe's hair is ruffled as if he'd buried it in pillow and blanket, looking as though he had cried himself out over whatever had been said, or not said. Lucy is silent as she moves just enough for Gwilym to fit in, raising her head and reaching out her hand to him. Joe shifts and mumbles they have to scoot over "for cuddle pile 2.0, c'mon Gwilly, get in here." 

Lucy budges up, her knees shifting against Joe's legs as he throws one over and fluffs out the blanket for Gwil to carefully settle himself behind Lucy, his chest against her back as he brokenly asks if this is alright. She nuzzles herself close and takes his hand, interlocking their fingers before tugging his long arm around her in lieu of a verbal reply. Joe wraps his arm around them both too, his fingers automatically grasping the cloth of Gwilym's shirt as they all sigh, attempting to nestle close in tandem, letting the now-still night wash over them all, hearing murmurs from Ben's space and the remnants of the conversation between Brian and Rory and Roger. 

Gwil's heartbeat starts to slow even as he sucks back tears and tries not to shudder too violently and disturb his mates. Lucy turns and nuzzles her face into his neck as Joe moves his palm up and down Gwil's back over his shirt.

Only thing they can do at present is be together and hope for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here is some comfort, or what I hope is comfort (dogs make everything better, as do snuggles)
> 
> Although Gwil isn't doing well, and Ben is dealing with the effects of forced addiction to tracker jacker venom :'(
> 
> Hope everyone is doing alright, comments appreciated <3


End file.
